


Here Comes the Sun (66th Hunger Games)

by Miss_Haki



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Angst, Arena (Hunger Games), Canon-Typical Violence, District 9 - Freeform, Explicit Language, F/F, Graphic Description of Corpses, Manipulation, Night Terrors, Original Arena(s) (Hunger Games), POV Third Person, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:27:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 56,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26492626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Haki/pseuds/Miss_Haki
Summary: To most people in District 9, the Hunger Games were but a distant nightmare. Yet another thing to deal with after days of back-breaking work.But to others, it was reality.
Relationships: Johanna Mason/Original Female Character(s), Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 36
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all!  
> I recently reread the Hunger Games, and got sucked down a rabbit hole of reading all the HG fanfics I could read on this site. Now that that’s done, and my hunger for hunger games still ain’t sated, I guess I’ll have to write my own.  
> If you stick around long enough, there may even be some hot lesbian romance!!  
> O.o

The sweltering sun scorched the skin of her back, already red and peeling from days of non-stop work. Her body ached for a break, but Farrow knew if her hands stopped for even a second her back would be getting a lot worse than the sun.

Public lashings were part of the day to day life here in District Nine. So much so that the whipping post was only taken down for the day of the Reaping. The whip had no prejudice, as she had quickly learned as a child, the marks she and every other person working the fields bore on their backs and shoulders.

The swing of her sickle, the way its curved blade made quick work of the grain before her, it was all methodical in her head, and if she let her mind wander far enough, maybe she could forget about the blistering heat and the painful hunch of her shoulders until she got to the end of the field. On longer days, there would be more to do, but thanks to the Capitol’s generosity, half of today and all of tomorrow were to be taken off for the Reaping, the opening of the Capitol’s favourite slaughter festival, the Hunger Games.

The more she thought about it, the more her hands shook. So, pushing that out of her mind, she instead thought about the luxurious dinner her family was planning for the special occasion.

The whole family had been working hard to save up for something nice. District Nine was one of the poorer districts, somewhat ironic as they controlled the food, but never had enough, so some fresh meat, or a block of cheese, or maybe even fruit would be a special treat for them all. Her father had kept it secret from us all, of course, that was how he liked to do things.

’The suspense is half the fun!’ He’d say, after waving off another dozen probing questions. Farrow’s two younger brothers would groan and whine, and then her mother would send him a withering look for setting them off. That was how things usually went.

Finally, she reached the end of the line of the crop, slicing through one final group of stems. She huffed, lifting her big straw hat off her head in order to wipe the sweat from her brow as she looked back. The line of barley was being sectioned off into smaller bundles by the younger kids, then it would be off to the factory to be threshed. Not wasting any time, she raced back to the tool shed and replaced her sickle in the spot marked with her name. She always thought it was funny the measures they went to to make sure they couldn’t arm themselves, even with the dull farming blades. She knew it wasn’t just that, of course. They kept track of the time it took for each worker to finish, as well as any damage or sub-par performance. If something was less than satisfactory, it was never something a few lashings couldn’t fix, or a pay-cut, in the case of a broken tool.

Sweaty and grimy from working all morning, Farrow was desperate to go home and claim a bath. She nodded politely at the Peacekeepers guarding the gates to the field she worked at, waiting until she had walked far enough to be out of sight to drop her friendly smile. From work to home was an hour walk, but even so, she usually caught a ride with the transport trucks in the morning. No such luck now though, and she trudged along the dirt road, pulling her arms inside the ratty white smock to try and shield them from the sun as best she could.

Sunburns were an everyday thing in the district, and it was probably more common to see a flying pig than a pale person, but Farrow knew the dangers of the sun on unprotected skin, she’d seen people waste away after growing nasty brown lumps after years of working out in the fields. The school called them ‘skin cancers’ and ‘melanoma’, but most people just called them skin suckers, based on their passing resemblance to leeches. Most people got them at some point, and since nobody had the money to get them professionally removed, you usually just had to either sit through it or remove it yourself with a sharp knife, preferably cleaned beforehand. It was one of the things she hated most about Panem. The Capitol had all the money in the world, could supposedly protect them from the violence outside the districts, but couldn’t supply a little sunscreen to potentially save thousands of lives? She scoffed. Everything the Capitol did was a power play. The Games, the tesserae, the fucking sunscreen. There were no words she could use to describe her hatred for them.

The sounds of an oncoming vehicle made her jump. For a split second, her mind absolutely thought she was a goner, that she’d accidentally said all of that out loud and that someone had heard and now she was going to be publicly executed for treason. Then she noticed the peeling green paint of the old grain transport truck and almost slapped herself for being so paranoid.

”Oi, why’d you leave without me?” A haughty voice called out from above.

”You know I can’t stand you, right?” Farrow replies, grinning up at the sun-kissed face of her best friend. “Oh no! Did I forget to tell you that?”

Amaran huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, obviously fake offended. “Well if that’s how it is, Bailey! Hit it!”

Bailey, a stout old man that was in the driver’s seat, guffawed and took off.

”H-Hey! Wait up!”

After a few minutes of pleading and teasing, Farrow clambered up into the tray of the old truck and slumped next to Amaran, between two heavy bags heading for the factory. The girl raised a blonde eyebrow at her as she sighed.

”Wow, you look like shit.” She said, reaching up to slick back a few hairs that have been plastered to Farrow’s forehead with sweat. 

”Thanks.” Farrow replied, closing her eyes as the rumble of the truck and the faint trace Amaran’s nimble fingers through her dark hair. From any other person, the remark would sting, but the two of them had bantered since the day they’d met. “I would say the same for you, but...”

Amaran smirked. “But I’m perfect.”

Farrow grinned. “You tell yourself that.”

“Well if you don’t, someone has to!” The shorter girl pouted. Farrow chuckled, but let the conversation drift into a comfortable silence. The two girls spent most afternoons like this, curled up in the back of the truck after a long day’s work, Amaran gently coaxing the stress from her scalp, then eventually the stiffness from her shoulders. Sometimes, she’d offer to return the favour, but the other girl would refuse, saying Farrow was the one who needed it.

She could see the reasoning. Amaran worked with her Uncle Bailey on the delivery trucks, carting the grain Farrow and the other field workers had harvested. Even so, on the rare occasion, she did manage to get the girl to relent and be on the receiving end, she’d moan and groan about how Farrow was doing it wrong and insist on teaching her instead, which was a clever way to go back to the usual way of doing things. 

”Hey, check me out! Farrow!” Amaran said suddenly, breaking Farrow out of her half-slumber. She glanced up and saw that not only has Amaran stolen her wide-brimmed straw hat, but a single stem of wheat from one of the bags in the truck, which was hanging from her lips like in all the posters of workers in the fields. “I’m you! Look at my raging biceps bursting out of my cuffed sleeves!”

”Knock it off.” Farrow groaned, cheeks warming up as she fought to snatch her hat back. “That was a terrible impression of me.”

”Sure it was. But I get points for the visual humour, right?” She replied with a grin, the wheat stem still held between her teeth. Farrow rolled her eyes, trying to settle back to catch a few more minutes of relaxation before they reached the town, only to tense and startle when she felt a sudden tickling sensation on her nose.

An unattractive squawk broke out of her as she stumbled back from Amaran, the offending wheat stalk still firm between her lips.

”Oh will you cut it out!” Farrow huffed, sitting back up and dusting off her white smock. “Just one Peacekeeper sees you with that and you’re in the square!”

Amaran cocked an eyebrow, seemingly taking up the challenge. She took a moment to mockingly search around the endless fields of yellow Canola they were driving through.

”Well, I don’t see any Peacekeepers around here." She said, leaning in a bit further, so as to make the head of the plant sway inches from her own face. "But if you want it so bad, you could always take it..."

There was a beat of silence. Different from the one previous. This one was certainly not as outwardly platonic as the first, and the hidden meaning behind the gesture did not go unnoticed. Farrow shot a quick glance at Bailey in the driver's side mirror, but the thing was so covered in grime she could barely make out the shape of his head. Perfect.

Her hand reached up, fingers trailing deftly over the slight bump of the other girl's chin. When she reached the subtle curve of Amaran's bottom lip, she resisted the urge to trace a finger over those soft pink lips - chewed raw from an awful habit of lip biting when nervous - and plucked the straw from between them, flicking it up and out of the trailer.

They were so close now, faces only inches apart. Amaran's eyes, a dark brown that sparkled like pools of honey in the sunlight, searched her own. What she was looking for, she couldn't tell.

"Quit your messin' around, girls!" Bailey's sudden shout had them stumble away from each other, back to sitting a respectable distance apart. "Town's coming up!"

Farrow watched her friend ride off down the road from where she was standing on the street, not so far off the main road so as to be considered lollygagging, but close enough that she didn't have to walk a great distance to get to her home. When the truck eventually turned out of sight, she stopped her wave and slipped back into the crowd of workers returning home for lunch.

The sigh escaped her lips before she could stop it. How many times had they nearly crossed that unspoken line? They'd danced around each other for years, practically since they'd met in school, leaving their feelings unspoken, but also very clear. She knew they could never go public with an actual relationship, so for now their hidden touches and shared glances were enough. One day, perhaps, things would be different.

By the time she made it home, everybody else was already setting up. Her two brothers had school, and her father worked at the granary, both of which were just a short walk from their home. She, like most other 17-year-olds, had taken up a job out in the fields to get some extra money for the family, which meant she was always a little late for family events.

"Finally, you're here!" Her mother exclaimed, pulling her through the door and to the table.

"Wait, I need to wash-" Her complaint was swiftly cut off by the sight of her father, grinning like an idiot, holding a fresh rabbit in his hands. Her arrival seemed to have lit a spark, as the excitement over real, fresh meat was starting to set in for the family, but her mother swiftly and skillfully snatched the thing from her father's hands.

"This." She said, having to raise her voice over the groans of despair. "Is for tomorrow's stew, after the Reaping."

That seemed to damper the mood a bit. The boys, Rai and Quin, weren't yet old enough yet, at 8 and 6 respectively, but Farrow's name was in the bowl 5 times, plus the extra 15 for tesserae taken for the three children. Both her parents had refused to let her enter her names more for them, so she'd only done it for the three kids. It wasn't huge, but it certainly wasn't good for her 'odds'.

Turns out her father had also dipped into the savings a bit more to buy a punnet of fresh strawberries, which when paired with a sliver of butter, seemed to make the dry circles of tesserae bread palatable. Even so, the sheer joy the rabbit had brought did not return. They all crowded around the kitchen table playing card games, trying to distract themselves from the dread of tomorrow looming over them.

She knew as soon as her head hit the pillow, her younger brothers curled up in the bed beside her, that she wouldn't get a wink of sleep. It was always like that on the eve of the Reaping. Even if it wasn't someone you knew personally, it was still a person. And being forced to watch their televised death knotted at her stomach. So instead, she calmed herself by rubbing circles into her brother's shoulder, watching the moon shift ever so slightly through the gap in the curtains.

When morning came, she knew the drill. The Reaping took place at 12:30 on the dot, so she filled up the bath and took her time washing all the grime and sweat from her body, clipping her nails, brushing through her hair. When she was finished, the rest of the house has woken, and her mother was waiting at the kitchen table to do her hair.

"I laid a nice dress out for you." She said, though her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Farrow nodded, returning to the bedroom to get dressed. It was a nice dress, shoulder-less and stopping just below her knees. It must have been one of her mother's as it was a bit tight in places, but it showed off her broad shoulders and made her look a lot taller than she was, so it was fine. Wordlessly, she stepped into her worn-out dress shoes and walked out to sit in front of her mother. They both knew she could do her own hair, but it always managed to calm them both down a bit, so no one complained.

After her mother had tamed her cropped, shoulder-length hair into a decent half up half down style, they both sat still for a while. The clock was counting down the minutes until they had to leave, and the boys were fidgeting nervously in their nice clothes, her father looking grim in the kitchen. Farrow took a deep breath, stood up, and put on her best confident smile.

"Well, let's hope this gets over with quickly, I've got a rabbit to eat!" She said, ruffling Rai's carefully tamed hair. The gesture made him pout, and it got the rest of them to smile, at least. "I'm gonna go ahead and catch up with Amaran, I'll see you guys after."

Her parents fixed her with a smile, and she fled the room before they could see her blush. The midday sun hit her face and she sighed, drinking in the rays of light while she could actually enjoy them, thinking ahead to the stuffy crowds and dreadfully boring speeches she'd have to deal with at the Reaping.

"Hey, sunshine," Amaran said from right beside her. When she opened her eyes, she spotted her friend in her best dress, a new blue one with a big bow at the back. "Have I ever told you how good you look in dresses?"

"I could bear to hear it a few more times." Farrow grinned, taking her hand and leading her down the path to the square. "I never thought I'd live to see the day your Uncle forced you into one, though."

"Oh, it was a struggle. I sure put up a good fight." She replied, absently lacing and unlacing their interlocked fingers. It was here their affection lied, hidden touches no one would suspect to be anything more than platonic. "But then again, I gotta look good if I'm being shipped off to the Capitol."

"Of course. Anything else would be positively garish!" Farrow replied, effortlessly picking up that high pitched Capitol accent that never failed to make them both burst into giggles. As they grew closer to the square, though, their attempts at jokes began to fall flat, and Amaran's hand grew clammy in her's. They both lined up in the 17-year-old section, only releasing their hold on one another to get their finger pricked, then it was right back into holding onto each other like a lifeline as they settled into their section of the square. No words needed to be said from there. Amaran traced little designs into the back of her hand, distracting them both from the Mayor's speech and the Treaty of Treason, which was always a crowd favourite. 

On the stage were four seats. The mayor, the District Nine escort (a lovely man by the name of Dionysus, who sported wine coloured... everything), and the District's only two living victors, Garner Rye and Miller Speck. Garner was a stoic, quiet type, mostly kept to himself in Victor's Village. Miller, however, makes herself known to the district by donating most, if not all, of her Victor's spoils, volunteering at the healing hut and at the Community home with all of the orphaned children. Both of them won their games many years ago, but they're still treated as heroes in the district.

Finally, the mayor stepped back and Dionysus took to the stage. 

"Hello District Nine!" He called out into the crowd, pumping his arms up and down like a maniac. He'd kept up with his 'party guy' shtick for all the many years he'd had the job, and if he cared about the lacklustre applause he received each and every year, he didn't show it. "I absolutely _love_ being back here with you all. I did need to work on my tan!"

"Can he just get on with it already?" Amaran whispered out of the side of her mouth at me. Farrow just winked back.

The Capitolite just kept smiling, busting out a few more one-liners before he eventually cleared his throat and tugged his glove dramatically. "We'll start with the ladies. And remember... May the odds be _ever_ in your favour!"

Both girls' grips tightened. It was all fun and games up until this point, but there was to be no joking now. They watched as the purple man swirled his hand around the glass bowl, the sound of hundreds of paper slips rustling setting all the people in the districts on edge. In the bowl, 20 slips read Farrow Teff, and another 15 read Amaran Fall. She hopes, prays to whatever lousy, good-for-nothing god is there that it's not theirs.

Obviously God doesn't like her very much.

"Farrow Teff!" 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a few ideas for this story, but I'm getting down as much as I can while I've got the motivation.  
> Also, I kind of imagine Farrow as looking a lit like Korra from Avatar (season four, with the cute short hair), except with a lot lighter skin. I love me some muscly women, y'all.  
> Constructive criticism welcome and appreciated!!

The name reverberated across the square. It sounded foreign on the tongue of the escort, so for a moment she almost thought it wasn't her.

Amaran's vice-like grip on her hand snapped her out of her stupor. She turned, staring at her friend for a moment, before quickly untangling their hands. Before she could even take a step back, through the nice gap the other girls had made for her, Amaran stopped her again, launching to pull her back.

"I'll volunteer." She spoke, almost a whisper. The Peacekeepers were already making their way over to her. "I'll do it. You can't leave me."

Farrow set her jaw, standing tall, nearly a foot over the smaller girl, and removed both of the girl's hands from her arms. She looked into those eyes, those beautiful eyes she had just been raving about, and spoke. "Don't. You. Dare."

A few of the other girls backed off at the warning tone, but Amaran just dissolved into tears and fell to the ground. Farrow's heart ached, how she desperately just wanted to go back, go back to riding in the back of the grain truck stealing forbidden glances, but she couldn't. She had a game to play.

Before the Peacekeepers reached her, she turned on her heel and marched down the walkway the other's had made, out into the open and down towards the stage. She knew that every single camera in the square was trained on her and her alone, so she set her shoulders back, straightened up and calmly climbed the stairs onto the makeshift stage. All she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and cry, but she managed - thinking about what her father always told her to do when she was scared - to stand with both feet firmly on the ground, face the scary thing, and scare them back. Of course, scaring the Capitol wasn't something she could really do, so she tried her best 'don't even try fucking with me' glare and just stared out at nothing.

"Well now, you'll certainly be a strong competitor!" Dionysus raved, patting her shoulder, even though she was a good head taller than him. "And how old are you, Farrow?"

"Seventeen." She spoke, and she was relieved to hear it came out calm and confidently. The escort called for applause and as she scanned the crowd, she could barely make out the shell-shocked faces of her family, standing right at the back of the crowd. Her mother wass tucked away in her father's shirt, who was looking on stone-faced. The boys didn't seem to know what was going on. They looked upset, but they waved when she catches their eyes, and she slipped what she hopes was a reassuring smile onto her face as Dionysus digs through the bowl of male tributes. The name he called, 'Grist Miller', she didn't recognise. And she found that she was (shamefully) relieved that she didn't recognise his face either. He came ambling from the thirteen-year-old section and had the sort of build that lends itself to factory work, not farming.

The mayor went through the usual round of boring speeches, and it took a moment for her to realise that this was it. Most definitely, this could be her last look at her district. She stopped, blocking out the sounds of the mayor droning on and allowed herself to take it all in. The drab concrete buildings fade away, and just in the horizon, she could see rise and fall of fields upon fields stretching as far as the eye could see. The sight, from far away, was quite picturesque. Pity, she never had a reason to appreciate it until then.

Farrow shook Grist's hand, looking anywhere but his terrified eyes.

She'd never been inside the Justice Building before. The plush, velvet couch she sat on was soft to the touch, but she couldn't help but think about all the kids who had sat there before her that was now dead. It made it slightly less comfortable.

The door opened and she's on her feet, her two wailing brothers in her arms, their parents not far behind them. 

"Mommy says you're leaving!" Quin said, his little fists balled up with a fistful of her dress.

"You can't go!" Rai exclaimed, near hysterics at this point. Farrow took a deep breath, sitting back down with both boys in her lap.

"I have to go. You'll get to see me on TV! And I'm coming back, of course." She reassured them, running her fingers through their hair. Mostly to calm them down, but it calmed the twitch she was developing in her hands. "You two be good for mom and dad, won't you?"

After many assurances that yes, they'd be good, and yes, she'd come back, they finally allowed her to stand back up. She was instantly wrapped up in a tight hug, her mother barely containing the tears she'd been holding in since her eldest was drawn.

"Mom, please," Farrow said. She'd put all this work into putting up a strong front, but as soon as she was in her mother's arms she couldn't help but feel like she was a kid all over again. "If you cry, I'll cry."

Her mother laughed. Not her usual one, the one that sets her head rocking backwards, but a terrible, hollow sound. They spent what felt like ages wrapped up to each other, but when she finally extracted herself from her daughter, she held her face in her hands. Farrow could see her scanning her features like she was committing them to memory. "You are smart. You are strong. No matter what happens in there, you are my daughter first and foremost. You can do this..."

Directly after finishing, her mother had to turn away, hiding the tears that were threatening to spill over her cheeks. 

Her father, never one for touchy goodbyes or sentimental stuff, simply wrapped his arms around her, burying his head in her hair. "You got this."

She nodded into his shoulder because she couldn't trust herself to reply without bursting into tears. Finally, she gathered them all back in front of her again as the Peacekeepers knocked on the door to signal time was up. They'd had to drag the boys out because they were crying again, and she could only shout out one last 'I love you' before they were gone.

The next time the door opened, Farrow expected Amaran but found only Bailey, her friend's Uncle.

"I know, she's coming right now." He said, clearing up her confusion. "Says she had to duck back to grab something."

She nodded, trying to think of something to say to the older man. They obviously spent a lot of time together, but that was mostly with him driving the truck and the girls in the back. She couldn't think about anything to say.

"I just wanted to come and see you off on my own, hopefully, give you girls a bit more privacy." He said, and she didn't miss the wink as he said it. "Survive, won't you? I couldn't bear to see my little girl heartbroken."

With that, he gave her a firm pat on the shoulder and was out the door. 

As soon as he passed the threshold, she was there.

Amaran swiftly closed the door, turned on her heel crossed the room so that she could pull Farrow into a deep, passion-filled kiss. Her legs felt like jelly, but, in the privacy of the little room, she grabbed the back of her friend's - no, fuck it, they were far from friends - head to deepen the kiss. The kiss was desperate, years of pent up emotions and secrets poured out in one single action. The way her fingers fell effortlessly in between those soft blonde curls, the feeling of the other girl's tiny hands roaming the broad expanse of her shoulders. It lasted hours, but also seconds, and Farrow only stopped when she felt the wet trail of tears down her cheeks.

Pulling back, she realised they were not her's. Amaran was dishevelled, her face blotchy and her lips swollen, but she looked just as beautiful as ever.

"Farrow..." Her name sounded like an angel song on Amaran's lips, and she pressed her forehead against the other girl's desperately.

"Say it." She begged. "Say my name again."

Farrow, Farrow, Farrow...

She whispered sweet nothings into her ear until the erratic beating of her heart was somewhere close to normal, and they were sitting back on the couch. 

"Please," Amaran spoke, her voice cracking ever so slightly. She had never seen the other girl like this before, but she couldn't say she blamed her. "Please come back to me. I need you."

"I will." She replied, grasping one of her hands in hers and pressing it to her lips. "You watch me on that screen and know that I'm yours. No matter what, I'll come back to you. I will hold your hands and kiss those lips again, and you'll tease me about my sunburn and we'll watch a thousand more sunsets from the back of your dirty old truck. We'll be together, and I don't care what I'll have to do so I can come back."

They kissed again, holding each other so close they couldn't tell where one person started and the other ended, but this time Amaran pulled back. "I almost forgot!"

Farrow watched her pull a small pouch from the pocket of her dress, and on the inside, two glistening silver rings sat on a bed of fluff. She gasped, knowing how much rings like those must have cost. They must have cost a few _years_ of work, at least.

"You don't have to worry. I stole them a while ago." The girl said, a glint of that mischievous smile on her face. "I thought I'd give it to you when we turned 18, but... Anyway. You can take something into the arena with you, so I thought they would be more useful now."

Farrow smiled, inspecting the small band of silver. It was simple, most likely one of those rings that people get engravings on, but just like this, it was beautiful, perfect for them.

"When I get back, I'll be so stinking rich we can get them engraved." She said, trying not to think about the mountain of challenges that stood between her and getting back. "You'll have to think of something good because you know how bad I am with this stuff."

"Oh yeah, I'll take care of it." The girl replied, carefully picking up the slightly larger ring and slipping it onto Farrow's ring finger. Neither of them spoke as Farrow returned the favour, sliding the identical ring onto Amaran's finger. They stayed like that, just holding each other until the Peacekeeper opened the door to take Amaran out. The girl shot her a look as she was leaving, eyes boring into her very soul. "Don't you die on me."

And Farrow nodded.

She wouldn't.

Nobody else had come to see her off, so she took the time to rearrange herself before they came to get her for the train ride. By the time they did, she had managed to pull herself back together enough to slap the mask back on and look determined for the cameras. They had to stand for a few minutes by the entrance to the train so the reporters could all capture their images, and she felt bad for her district partner, who had obviously been crying but was playing it off like a champ.

When they finally got inside and adjusted to the speed of the train she was taken to her quarters, directed on how to use a shower, then taken through a more guided look of the other compartments. All the while, Farrow had to deal with Dionysus yapping in her ear about all the amazing food and wine and parties they would be able to experience in the Capitol. Grist was obviously able to handle him a little better, nodding and asking questions at the right times to keep him busy, but whenever questions were directed her way during the tour she tried to be as brief as possible.

Finally alone in her quarters, Farrow threw herself on the bed, allowing her mask to slip ever so slightly as all the emotions of the day caught up with her. Dionysus had told her that there were another few hours until they had to congregate in the dinner cart for supper, so she did what any respectable person would do when being shipped off to their death, and bawled her eyes out. She couldn't help but think about all the things she'd miss about back home. Not just the people, not just the places, but the milestones. The birthdays, graduations, anniversaries. She buried her face in the plush pillows and allowed herself to mourn the life she'd lost, simply by the simple fact of her name being drawn.

Of course, after what felt like hours, she felt like utter shit. She managed to hobble over to the fancy shower in her compartment and scrub away most of the evidence with too-hot water and thick bubbly foam that smelled like lavender. Farrow tried to enjoy it, it was her first real hot shower after all, but something about the lavish setting reminded her of how far she was from home.

When she left the shower, having scrubbed away a few layers of skin, she addressed herself in the mirror. The first things that stuck out at her were the flaws. The gap between her two front teeth, the hollow of her cheeks from years of eating only enough to survive, the scars that blanketed her body from both work and punishment. This is what she saw, but what did the Capitol see?

She was tall. At 6'3, she was one of the tallest in her class, and she was strong from years of hard labour. Not bulging, like some of those district two guys (even if Amaran would tease her relentlessly about it), but enough to show clear muscle definition on her tanned arms and legs. Her hair was nice enough, a dark brown cropped just above her shoulders, but she'd never had to time or patience to really do anything with it. All of these things she'd shown the cameras.

Setting her shoulders back, she glared at her reflection. All she could see was a scared little girl, but she could definitely bluff her way through this.

She would play their game, and she would come home, no matter what it took.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY, so I finally made up my mind one where I'm going with this story. After we're done with Farrow's games we'll go on to meet the other victors and some other fun shenanigans.  
> The update schedule will be messy due to school BUT I'll try my best.  
> Enjoy :)

Supper, as it turned out, was a quiet affair.

Farrow and Grist sat in silence opposite their two mentors as they ate, watching the two tributes but not speaking. Even Dionysus, for the first time since she'd arrived, had shut up. As dessert was rolled out, Garner spoke up.

"So, are you two planning on dying in the bloodbath as per usual or are you going to give us something to work with." The middle-aged man said, fixing Farrow with a sharp look. His tone held no joke to it, so Farrow didn't take it as one. So as Grist stumbled, clearly offended, she returned his glare with one of her own.

"I assure you, I have no plans to leave that arena in any other state than alive." She said, watching the way Garner's stoic facade morphed into a sly smirk.

"And that's all well and good, but what do you have to show for it?" He replied, swirling his glass of wine in a lazy motion. Farrow narrowed her eyes further, her knuckles white as her grip on her knife grew tighter.

"I thought that was supposed to be your job." She replied, her voice venomous by that point. Garner tipped his head back and laughed, but there was still no humour in his tone.

"Garner..." Miller said softly, but the younger mentor shrugged off her warning hand on his shoulder.

"No, I want to know what makes you think you're different from the last twenty girls that sat where you're sitting. I want to know what makes you so much better than them that you'll survive when they all died!" He said, voice raising steadily until he was leaning in, eyes on a level with hers. His words hurt, obviously, as they were the same ones clouding her thoughts at the moment. "Go on, enlighten us all!"

There was a beat of silence as all eyes settled on Farrow.

"I'm going to survive." She said slowly so that they couldn't hear the shake in her voice. "Because what other choice do I have?"

Garner sat back in his chair, drained the rest of his glass and with a flick of his wrist motioned for the door. "How about we go watch the rest of the Reapings? Scope out the competition."

So they all shuffled in and settled on the plush couches, watching Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith commentate this year's batch of tributes. Miller sat down on the couch next to her and offered a placating smile. She returned it briefly but focused back on the screen. If dinner had proven one thing, it was that blindly trusting in her mentors would be her downfall.

There were five volunteers, all from One, Two and Four, but for the first time in ages, there weren't any male volunteers in the Fourth District. The boy who'd been Reaped was thin and sickly and looked terrified by the implication that nobody would save him. The rest of the Career tributes looked tough. There was a vicious looking boy from One who nearly tackled his competition when volunteering, a smaller girl from Two who jumped for joy when she reached the stage as if she'd already won. Her district partner was a pile of muscle with barely any neck, grunting at any question the escort asked him.

Farrow watched the Reapings continue, the crowds looking bleaker and bleaker as they passed. There was a twelve-year-old from Five who looked about ready to pass out on the stage, a hulking eighteen-year-old from Seven who dwarfed his fellow tribute but was shaking like a leaf. Eight passed without a hitch and then there they up. 

She couldn't exactly pinpoint the expression on her face as her name was called but from the commentator's positive remarks, she didn't think she was a complete failure. Seeming to go well so far, the other three districts provided another Six underfed children, all pretty young. The fourteen-year-old boy from Eleven hobbled onto stage and it became very clear that he had wasn't all there, and he had some sort of limp that forced him to use a walking stick. Miller was whispering something under her breath, but Garner wouldn't meet her eyes.

Farrow knew that her odds were still pretty low, but she couldn't help but clutch to the small hope she still had.

They made it to the Capitol in the early morning. Miller was waiting for her in the dining car and told her all about what was to come with the preparations for the Tribute Parade. Grist had asked to be coached separately, which was, of course, fine with her. She was glad that she wasn't stuck with Garner, at least.

"This strong act you've got going, it's okay so far." The older woman said, watching the colourful Capitol building fly by the train window. She pursed her lips. "But if you go too far down that path, they'll get bored."

Farrow nodded, understanding. This was basically a big beauty pageant up until they stepped into the arena, and she'd seen how important impressing the Capitol was to gaining sponsors and, eventually, winning. Just last year, Golden Boy Finnick Odair had won at the ripe age of fourteen, only after gaining so much sponsor money from his adoring fans that they assured his victory.

She was no Finnick, but she sure as hell could give it a shot.

So after getting changed into a nice dress from the ample supply in her closet, and forcing her hair back into the nice style her mother had crafted just yesterday, she waited by the train doors as they rolled closer to the station.

"I..." Grist's voice startled her out of her stupor, and she found he had come to stand next to her. They hadn't so much as shared a conversation since the Reaping, and Farrow somewhat preferred it that way, but she couldn't help but feel concerned for the thick layer of sweat beading across his forehead, the tremor of his hands. "I don't know how to do all this."

She set her lips into a firm line, grabbing a few tissues from a side table and patting his face dry. She fixed him with a friendly smirk. "You think I do, either? Just smile and wave, they'll eat it up."

He didn't look 100% convinced, but she left him to his own devices as they slowed to a stop in the station. The doors slid open to reveal a crowd of colourful Capitol citizens, all tripping over themselves to catch a look at them. Farrow kept that natural smirk on her face as she strolled through the crowd, Miller by her side. She threw out a few casual waves to anyone that caught her eye (which wasn't too hard, really. The number of feathers and gems and animal print these people wore drew attention) and winked at anyone who screamed her name loud enough.

As soon as she was safe, tucked into the car with a layer of reflective glass between her and the crowd, she let herself slump into her seat. The hard part was over, or so she thought.

Hours later, after being assaulted with scrubs and wax and tweezers (they'd also managed to yank her crooked teeth into a straight line, which left her with an aching jaw), she was apparently up to the Capitol's base-line beauty standards and was now waiting, fully naked, to see her stylist. One of the people assigned to her had taken her ring off of her at some point to get it 'cleared', so she already wasn't in the best moods. This was probably the part she was most nervous for, aside from the games themselves. For a few years, the District Nine stylist has been dressing the tributes up as different kinds of bread, which had obviously been a tremendous hit with the crowds. Not.

The door opened to reveal a somewhat normal-looking woman, sporting dyed pink hair and an innumerable number of piercings on her face and body.

"Farrow, darling!" The woman called as she wrapped her in a tight hug, as if the two had been friends for years. "I'm your stylist, Flora. So nice to finally meet you, you've given me so much to work with!"

As long as its not bread... She though bitterly

"As you know, District Nine works with grains. Pretty important to Panem, I'd say! What with all the carbs we eat around here." Flora joked, and Farrow had to force a little chuckle from her dry throat. She did not want to be on the bad side of the woman responsible for her image in the Capitol. "So it got me thinking. That bread thing the old dude was doing these last few years really does _not_ vibe with our current situation, does it? I'd say you're much more... captivating than that."

Flora took her into a separate room to discuss things over an early lunch. Farrow didn't mind the woman, she was fairly nice as far as Capitol citizens went, if not a little frazzled. Apparently, this was her first year as a stylist, and she wanted to show her strengths.

"When I first saw you on that stage, I knew I wanted you." Flora explained as she shuffled around foxing Farrow's hair and makeup. The prep-team had applied a base layer of natural makeup, which accentuated her severe eyes and added a bit of weight to her lips, as well as curling her hair so it sat on her shoulders in soft waves. Flora, apparently, had wanted to do the more artistic parts of her outfit for herself, painting intricate wheat0like designs in gold paint down her neck and shoulders, all the way to the tips of her fingers and finishing it off by dusting her with a thick layer of some sort of glittery powder that made her skin glow blinding under the synthetic lights. "You had this regal air about you, I knew you were a contender from the start."

Farrow nodded, not wanted to disrupt the process by speaking.

"So, naturally, a goddess of the harvest seemed like a perfect fit for you!"

The garment was hidden by a layer of black plastic, and Flora had her close her eyes as she tied the loose fabric around her body, tying it at her shoulder. After a few minutes of muttering to herself, and a few pins and adjustments, she was allowed to look.

The girl - no, woman - that stood in the mirror was a stranger. She looked about five years older in the ancient Grecian garb, a white fabric interwomen with blades of dried straw that wrapped around her body in such a way that it highlighted all her best features, and played up her lacklustre ones. The golden clasp that secured the fabric at her shoulder had a glowing sun detail, and Flora had placed another Sun-themed headdress atop her soft curls. Her skin was like satin, the makeup adding extra shadows and highlights to show off her lean and muscular figure, but kept a certain amount of femininity to it. Under all the glitz and glamour, she could barely see herself. 

Not thinking of anything else to say, she murmured: "Wow, it's amazing..." and let Flora gush and rave on about her as she fixed a few tiny details and took her down to the basement of the Remake Center, where the chariots were waiting.

Grist had also been remade into a God, with a similar toga and wreath of sunlight around his head. He somehow looked even more nervous than he had been on the train, eyes fluttering around as more and more tributes arrived in the stables.

"Remember what I said, it's just smiling and waving," Farrow said as she arrived next to him. He looked marginally relieved to see her if anything.

"Actually, we're going to be doing it a little differently this year." A stout man next to Flora, most likely Grist's stylist, said.

They had them both up onto the chariot to arrange them and their robes. Flora manoeuvred her arms to sit in a certain position, adjusted her chin to just the right tilt, and forced her to set her shoulders back. "There will be no smiling. Acknowledge the crowd, but keep your posture relaxed and strong, like gods. Just remember, you're gods!"

"Gods..." Grist muttered under his breath as the two stylists retreated to get a look. "I feel about as mighty as an ant right now."

Farrow nodded, taking the time to scan through the line of tributes starting to gear up for the ride through the Capitol. The chariot directly in front of their's contained District Eight, and their stylist had taken the creative approach of dressing up in a large pile of what seemed like fabric scraps. So yeah, she definitely lucked out with her stylist.

The music blasted through the room and District One rode out into the city, the crowd going wild for their tributes painted gold and studded with expensive jewels. Soon enough, the horses drawing their chariot slowly started to move forward, and the roar of the crowd can be heard over the booming music. Grist goes rigid beside her, but Farrow sets her shoulders and watches the faces of the crowd fly by. They were going wild for the two of them, screaming their names and throwing flowers at their feet. 

She managed to catch a beautiful white lily that was thrown her way, smirking in the general direction from which it was thrown and tucking the bloom behind her ear carefully. 

A screen passed and Farrow caught a glimpse of herself, practically glowing in the torchlight and looking smug. She blew a kiss to one of the cameras as she passed it, and watches all the screens in the area switch to her to catch the action. The crowd was putty in her hands.

Eventually, the president's mansion came into view and the tributes did a final lap of the city circle before halting before President Snow himself. Farrow had seen him on TV and in textbooks before, but standing there, looking up at him on the balcony, she couldn't shake the overwhelming feeling of danger that emanated from him. He raised a hand to silence the crowd, before welcoming them all and wishing them all good luck. The cameras panned across all of the tributes in turn and the anthem blared through the speakers, their chariots guiding them out of the city circle and into the training centre.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again with another addition to this pile of flaming garbage.  
> I've been a bit busy, as the end of school and HSC exams are coming up, but this is where I can come and relax. Write about some kid murder. The usual stuff. Also, I've finalised my living situations and I'm moving to Melbourne in two months!!! Aaaaaah I'm so excited to move away from my small town to the big city :)  
> Anyway enough of my personal ramblings and onto the story!

On the morning of their first day of training, Farrow woke with a start, chasing the images of her own gruesome death from her mind. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she was laying a pool of her sweat. Well, getting night terrors weren't the most uncommon thing in this situation, she supposed.

Clambering to the shower, she turned on the cold water to full blast and let the frigid stream pummel her until she was sure her heart rate had returned to normal, then turned it back to the regular temperature and smothered herself in another round of rich soap. The Capitol sucked, there was no doubt about that, but its showers were legendary.

Back in her room, an outfit had been laid out for her on the freshly made bed. It was simple, just a pair of tight-fitting athletic pants and a loose white tank top. It was the first time she'd gotten to handle herself since they'd arrived in the Capitol, so she took her time putting her clothes on, stretching her body out, and tying up her hair out of her face. Miller had talked to her after they'd come back for dinner last night, and she knew a rough outline of what to do for training.

Apparently, she'd made herself out to be a target. To make sure the Careers left her alone, she'd either have to fail spectacularly or scare them so much they wouldn't come after her. After all her work to look tough, she really didn't want to fail and make herself out to be a fool on purpose, but it wasn't like she had any special skills she could wow the others with.

All these thoughts were swimming through her head as they ate breakfast in silence, both of them have already received their plans from their respective mentors. The atmosphere was tense, apparently, the nerves were rubbing off on the adults in the room, too. She spotted Dionysus rubbing his gloved hands together anxiously under the table. 

By the time they eventually made their way down to the Training Center, most of the other tributes had gathered. The thought made her stomach go up in knots. Farrow could act the part all she wanted, but without all the screaming Capitol citizens and glamorous costumes, now she had to prove it. She surveyed the other tributes as an attendant attached a number 9 to the back of her top. She'd already half-known, but she was one of the biggest of the bunch, with only the beefy guy from Seven beating her in height. The kids from the more well-fed districts probably had a few pounds on her lanky frame, though.

Tera, the maniac from Two who had celebrated like a child when she won the volunteering, caught her gaze and grinned. Farrow kept her face stone set and instead listened to the head trainer, who had started explaining things while she was taking stock of her competition.

Ugh, she hated thinking like that.

As soon as they were free to go, she tried her hand at the edible plant station, which was one of the only ones vacant from the start. She was fine with about half of them, having seen them every day back in District Nine, but she had to consult the trainer and commit most of the others to memory for most of the morning. Satisfied that she'd probably not kill herself with plants, Farrow made her way back to the main square, surveying the area for a clear section.

Feeling a set of eyes on her, she turned and found the Career pack watching her like a hawk over by the spear-throwing section. The boy from One, Dior, was just finished skewering a set of dummies through their hearts and was staring back at her viciously. Well, she guessed 'showing off' was going to have to start now.

Pushing back her smarter side, Farrow sent the group a friendly grin and strolled over to the hand-to-hand combat station, where a sturdy-looking man stood in front of a few wrestling mats. She'd been in her school's wrestling club for a few years but had quit shortly after dropping out to start working. Even so, she was sure she remembered a few things. The trainer explained that everyone starts at the lowest level - beginner - and goes all the way up to level five - complex - by winning matches, either by pinning your opponent or by forcing them out of the wring. Right, pretty standard so far.

He also explained that while there was no aiming to kill, the trainers would not pull their punches. That seemed about right.

Farrow's first opponent was a spry looking woman. Since this was beginner level, the woman didn’t seem comfortable with her fighting. Her stance was too high, her elbows too wide. She was leaving herself too open. After deflecting a few sloppy punches, Farrow grabbed her arm and forced the woman up and off the ground and threw her from the ring with a grunt. The buzzer sounded and after setting up with the next trainer, Farrow noticed a few other pairs of eyes watching her match. The Careers were all grumbling, but a few other tributes had stopped what they were doing, and she saw that most of the Gamemakers had fixated on her as well.

The second guy was more comfortable in his stance but, rejuvenated by the threat of looking like a fool in front of everyone, she held her own until she was able to sweep his legs out and pin him down by his neck. The next two rounds went similarly, with the opponents getting steadily larger and more skilled until she was on the final level.

Farrow's breathing was a bit strained from exertion, but she'd managed to get this far and she was riding the high to the end. The final trainer was the man she'd spoken to at the beginning. He was not only taller but much sturdier than her. This was not a fight to be won with force, she realised, as the buzzer sounded to start the match.

He came out guns blazing, aiming a swift jab to her head that she barely dodged. While she was down, she tried to sweep his legs out, but his stance was too strong and she earned a hard blow to the ribs for her trouble. She heard a peal of resounding laughter from somewhere, probably that District One goon, but she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. Going on the defence, she put all she had into dodging and deflecting his blows, inching her way closer and closer to the edge of the ring.

Farrow could tell he was getting frustrated with her constant flight, and only as soon as she spotted a less than ideal punch heading her way she struck. Catching him by the crook of his elbow, she twisted and manoeuvred his momentum against him until he flew off the ground and crashed into a stand of weights, a few feet out of the ring.

After a few moments of silence, the final buzzer sounded Farrow left the ring herself, sending another friendly smile back to the now scowling Careers. Her ribs were aching and she could barely move from exhaustion, but she tried not to let it show as she moved to the fire starting station.

The rest of her training time went pretty similarly. Farrow made her way through the various stations, steering clear from the Careers and trying to pick up as many skills as she could before time was up. She was a natural with knot tying and knives, having worked with her hands her whole life, and her aim wasn't bad with a slingshot. There were a few problem areas she noticed, such as her inability to start a proper fire or make it a few paces on the climbing course without falling back on her ass.

Nursing a sore back and bruised pride after yet another go on the course, she returned to the knot making section and let her hands take over from her brain for a moment. The thin strips of grass were soon braided into thicker cables that were strong enough to support the human-sized trap one of the experts had taught her. As soon as she started on the trap, though, she noticed she had an audience.

"Need something?" Farrow asked the hulking boy from Seven who had taken up the place next to her. His name was Ash if her memory served her right, and he had just moments ago refused an invitation to join the Careers. He was watching her hands work with a sort of concentration that showed his interest.

"Just trying to pick up some tips." He assured her, straightening up and turning to his own project. It was a simple snare, but he'd confused the type of knot, and his clunky hands weren't practised enough to pull off some of the more complex knots. Her hands itched to correct them, but she stopped herself before she could. Farrow tried to remind herself that this guy was a fellow competitor, that for her to win he would have to die, and therefore helping him would be for nothing. But her mind replayed the scene of him earlier that day, flying through the climbing course like he weighed nothing. Maybe...

"I could, uh... help. If you want." Farrow said, watching him stop his failed project. When he looked up, he looked a bit lost. She huffed. "Only if you show me how you're able to get more than three steps into that rope course."

That got Ash laughing. Evidently, he'd seen her piss poor attempt as well. "You've got yourself a deal."

After about an hour of explaining the different knots that go into different traps, and showing him how to do each of them on a simple scale, he seemed to get the hang of it long enough to make one without assistance. Then, of course, Ash lead her through each step of the climbing course and showed her which spots could support the most weight. He told her about his work in the lumber yards in Seven, and in turn, she explained her work out in the fields, and how most of the furniture in her home was made of the scraps of crops after milling.

It was only after Farrow finally completed the course on her own, and received a hearty cheer from Ash, that she realised that the Careers had had their eyes trained on the pair of them for a while. When she pointed it out to Ash as they climbed down from the hanging ropes, he shrugged and said. "Well, if I were them, two of their biggest competitors teaming up wouldn't sound great."

"You want to team up?" She asked, stopping in her tracks. Ash gave her a look, one that told her she was being an idiot. "What?"

"Didn't I just say?" He said, walking off towards the canteen. "We're their biggest competition."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The private training sessions and scores.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was a hard one. I was sort of struggling to find something Farrow could have to set her apart, but eventually, it came to me. Hopefully, it doesn't seem too out of place. Let me know what y'all think!

With training complete, the big task now was impressing the Gamemakers in the private sessions. Depending on how well Farrow did today, she would be given a score out of twelve that ranked her from useless to lethal. This was important, as it marked who would get the most sponsors and who was a lost cause.

Miller sat down with her after breakfast, outlining the 'do's and 'don't's of the session.

"By the time you get there, most of them will be tipsy." The older woman explained, a hint of a smile on her face. "You have to do something that'll grab their attention. This is not the time to be modest, give it everything you've got and, most importantly; show off. Remember, it's all a game to them."

Her mentor's words floated around her brain as she sat, waiting for her turn to go in. She'd already gone and shown what she could do on her first day here, so how could she possibly top that?

The room grew quieter and quieter as the time went on and more tributes went in. Sitting beside her, Ash was bouncing his leg up and down so hard he could start a fire with the friction he was creating. Quickly, she placed a firm hand on his knee, stopping the nervous tick and catching his eye. "You'll be fine. No one here's got what you've got."

He huffed, slouching in on himself in the chair and running a hand through his choppy black hair. Farrow remembered that it had been a lot longer and shaggier at the Reaping, but the Capitol had tamed it into a much cleaner style once they'd gotten their hands on him. Even after he seemed to settle, it only took a minute or so for the nervous fidgeting to start up again. "Here, maybe this will help."

This time, she took his hand. Seeing his look of confusion, she waved him off and pressed the tip of her thumb into the space between his thumb and pointer finger on the back of his hand. "My grandmother used to show me all these weird pressure points. Ones that hurt like hell, or fix or headache. This one here calms you down."

Ash pondered her words carefully, slipping his hand out of her grasp and trying it for himself. "Huh." He said, massaging the spot she'd shown him. "Weird. I guess it gives me something to do instead of shaking like a leaf."

Nodding, Farrow sat back in her chair and continued waiting. Slowly, she moved her hand over the pressure points she still remembered. Her grandmother had died a couple of years ago now and she hadn't exactly been studying it, so she was a bit rusty, but she managed to find a few from muscle memory. Between the eyebrows for focus, behind the knuckle of the index finger for a headache, just below the bicep to paralyze the arm...

Her eyes shot open.

She had an idea.

Before she knew it, it had been fifteen minutes since Grist has gone in and it was now her turn. 

Farrow paused outside the doors, allowing herself a moment to steady herself, set her shoulders back, and walk into the gym confidently. The set-out was the same as it had been for the training sessions, and everything looked untouched. She spotted a line of trainers at the back wall, ready to spar, and steeled herself. Yet again, she was taking the risk that this would work and set her apart from the others. If it didn't...

She didn't think about that.

When Farrow found her mark in the centre of the room, she looked up and her heart sank. She'd hoped that she'd at least have some of the Gamemakers' attention, but they were all crowded around a large roast pig that had just been brought out to the buffet table, singing some sort of drinking song. She cleared her throat, but her voice was owned out by the second verse of the merry song they were shouting. She narrowed her eyes. Farrow had always hated them, but their inability to pay attention, to do perhaps the one thing detailed in the job description of Gamemaker, had her filled with a deep and inescapable rage. She was the one who was forced to come here and entertain these goons, and they can't even give her the courtesy of looking at her for fifteen minutes? Thinking about her mentor's words, how she would have to do something to grab their attention, she held her fingers up to her lips and let out a sharp whistle that echoed as it bounced around the massive room. It was a well-practised one, the one she'd use to mark closing time across several fields, and she wasn't disappointed with the results.

Several of the Gamemakers, obviously not expecting the sudden noise, jumped and squealed. Farrow spotted a woman in the back with a bright red stain down her robes. Good.

"Ahem. Farrow Teff. District Nine." She introduced herself, trying to keep the anger from her voice. A little seeped out, but she was beyond caring. Her lips moved up robotically into what she hoped was a friendly smile. "If I could just have your attention for another ten or so minutes, you can go back to your lovely roast, I assure you."

Turning on her heel before any of them could react, she marched over to the wrestling station and waved over the trainer from before, the one from level five difficulty. The back of her neck was boiling red, dripping with sweat. Now she'd gone and done it. If she messed this up, after deliberately insulting the Gamemakers... She would be surprised if they even let her get a one. 

Oh well, at least she knew every pair of eyes was on her.

The trainer stood opposite her, lowered into a strong and steady position. Farrow felt herself relax, gathering herself into a loose stance and arranging her fists so that her middle and pointer finger stood out, pointing at the man opposite her. Just before the buzzer started, she sent a quick prayer to her old grandmother. She needed this to work.

He shot out as soon as the buzzer rang, fists at the ready. Focused, she sidestepped his blow and before he could recover, she struck, sending one, two, three quick jabs into the side of his throat, bicep and armpit. 

The room was silent, only the sound of the artificial lights above them humming, as the man nearly twice her size fell to a heap on the floor, twitching and moaning.

Resisting the urge to jump for joy (it had worked! it had actually worked!) Farrow casually sat a foot in the small of the man's back, 'pinning him' and counting down from five. When she reached zero, she rolled him over with her foot and grinned down at him. "Don't worry, it'll only last for a few minutes."

After he had been dragged away, Farrow made quick work of the rest of the trainers. They'd learned not to come in so hot, but no matter how they dodged or blocked, a lightning-fast jab to one of their hidden pressure points would send them careening to the mat below.

When her fifteen minutes were up, she looked up to the Gamemakers and saw them all sitting on the edge of their seats. She'd given them a good show, at least. 

The Head Gamemaker, a severe-looking woman with eyebrows that were shaped like bolts of lightning, looked curiously down at her. "You may go."

With a nod, she left the room and took the elevator back up to the ninth floor. It took her a few moments to release the breath she had been holding, slumping her back against the elevator door at it soared up over the city streets. Her fingers ached and when she looked at them they looked red and swollen. Dionysus took one look at her when she arrived and whisked her away to fix them up. When he inquired into what happened, she insisted they wait until they were back with the others. Farrow didn't want to retell it more than once.

With her fingers wrapped in some sort of medicinal balm that numbed the pain and reduced the swelling, they returned to the room just in time for dinner. Grist shot her a confused look but she just shook her head as she took a seat next to Miller. Flora and Grist's stylist had joined them too, no doubt to watch the announcement of the scores together.

The tension in the room became unbearable by the time they'd finished the salad. Luckily, Garner could always be relied on to ignore social cues.

"So, did you fuck up so bad they broke your fingers as punishment?" He drawled, taking a swig of a deep amber liquid. Farrow smirked, shoulders shaking with the effort it took to contain her laughter. "Worse than that?"

She didn't know what had gotten into her, but she had to take a moment to compose herself before she admitted it.

"Come on then, don't leave us in the dark!" Miller chastised, slapping her arm lightly. "It can't be that bad."

Farrow grinned. "They weren't paying attention, so I whistled at them like dogs."

It took a few moments for the room to get back under control. Dionysus was screeching about the disrespect she'd shown, how he was so disappointed because she seemed like such a good little girl. Grist and the stylists were frozen in shock but were starting to crack as she was forced to replay the moment out to them, and her two mentors were near tears at the variety of shocked faces Farrow was able to imitate. 

Dinner went on in good spirits. Neither of them explained what they _did_ in their private assessment, but if it was enough for Grist to not be shaking like a leaf with nerves, and for her to be in such good spirits, they must have known it at least went well.

As they moved back to the TV room after dinner, Garner forced her to do the whistle, and the sheer noise of it caused Dionysus to nearly faint with worry (those poor people's ears!)

But by the time Caesar Flickerman re-appeared on the screen, they had all calmed down enough to at least be serious as they watched. Dior and Tera managed a ten, with the other Careers getting eights and nines. The scores then started averaging at fives and sixes. Ash, her new ally, boasted a perfectly reasonable nine. The little girl from eight scored a two, which caused a few sympathetic sighs from the audience, but then it was District Nine's turn.

"Grist Mills with a score of... Six." 

Everyone took turns congratulating him, and Garner even gave him a firm pat on the back. She suspected he'd most likely done the obstacle course, as she'd seen him acing it numerous times over the training sessions, but she supposed she didn't really know.

All went quiet as the screen flashed again, this time with a portrait of Farrow looking bored. Miller's gentle hand on her leg grew vice-like for a moment, and then she saw the number.

"Eleven?!" She shouted before anyone else could. It took a moment for the rest of the room to react accordingly.

"Oh, this is fabulous! I knew you could do it!" Dionysus finally exclaimed, seemingly over her disrespect now that it had been rewarded by the Gamemakers. "I've been down to the clubs and you're all anyone's talking about, you know! And now they simply won't be able to stop! You'll have a pile of money before the gong even sounds.."

Farrow nodded along to their escort's ramblings. With the way she was feeling at the moment, she could deal with Dionysus for hours. Well, maybe not, but she felt amazing! Flora engulfed her in a massive hug - which must have looked odd because Farrow was so much taller than her - and was screaming about how she knew from the start that she was Victor material. Miller and Garner were exchanging an odd look, but she understood. She had just proven him wrong about being useless.

Out of the corner of her eye, Farrow spotted Grist slipping away down the hall. She frowned but knew there was nothing she could do. She had made him look bad, but that wasn't her fault, exactly. Garner went off to follow the young boy, and she allowed Grist to slip to the back of her mind as Flora popped open a fresh bottle of champagne, celebrating as if she had already won the thing.

As the fruity alcohol worked its magic, she found herself caring less. He could think about what he wants. At the end of the day, he's competition.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The interviews.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's gooooo. Interviews are possibly my favourite parts of the Games. They're so important for the overall story, and I had a lot of fun writing this one. Let me know what you think!

Farrow felt instant regret when she woke up the next morning.

Not only had the wine given her a major headache, but she'd been dragged out of bed and shoved in the shower by Dionysus. Today was the day we had to prepare for the interviews, filmed live in front of a crowd of thousands, and being shown on TV screens across the country. To say she was nervous was an understatement.

After spending as much time as she dared to get ready, she walked into the dining room and was immediately set into action. Dionysus, it seemed, ran on a strict schedule, and Farrow had cut into her allotted breakfast time with her 'tardiness', as the escort had so kindly put it. So as Miller was explaining the routine of the day (four hours with Dionysus for etiquette, four hours with their respective mentor for content) Farrow shovelled as much fruit and porridge into her mouth as she could.

Disgusted by her sudden lack of table manners, Dionysus decided for her that she'd go with him first. "Before she becomes a complete animal!"

She had no idea how they could be learning about something as simple as etiquette for four hours but was sorely mistaken. Dionysus had her walking in towering heels under a floor-length gown all while balancing a pile of books on her head. Needless to say, a life of cultivating the fields did not lend itself to good posture, and the number of times Dionysus smacked her for slouching was surely going to leave a bruise. 

They were working down to the last second, and everyone else had already sat down for lunch when Dionysus deemed that she could walk and sit and smile 'like a lady' for at least three minutes.

Farrow felt like she needed a full night's rest after that hell, but it was only after a quick break to eat (in which she tried to make conversation with Grist, but was only met with clipped replies) that Miller appeared and dragged her off into her room for the second part of her training. She sat in the chair opposite her mentor and showed her the smile that Dionysus had forced her to perfect, but her mentor waved her off.

"It doesn't fit with the image you've created for yourself." She explained, making her redo it until they came up with one that seemed to fit. In the small hand mirror she held, her face looked calm and peaceful, but there was something eerie and mysterious to it. "There. Try and keep that look as your resting face. It suits the character."

Farrow kept her feelings to herself, trying to soak up as much information as she could in the short time they had, but a small part inside of her grumbled. She was being forced to dance and play the part for the Capitol's entertainment, and she can't even smile her way.

Miller had her run through a standard set of questions in a few different ways. Cute and ruthless were cut right away, and after careful consideration sexy and humble were thrown out, too. It seemed she couldn't get anything quite right. 

"Hey, remember, these are just frameworks," Miller said, with a comforting hand resting on her leg. "The most interesting characters come from a place of truth. As long as you stay calm-"

"Hello, ladies!" Flora had barged in without warning, making them all jump. "Ah, sorry about the shock. Just wanted to give your token back to you. It was cleared this morning."

Farrow jumped from her seat to receive the ring from her stylist. She'd only had it for a day or so, but her hands had felt empty ever since the ring had been taken from her so she was ecstatic to slide the band of silver back over her ring finger. Flora wished them both luck and retreated, but when Farrow returned to her seat, she couldn't help but twist the ring her finger, a soft smile on her face. She wondered what Amaran was doing now. Probably driving around delivering grain to the mills, or maybe it was a day off, and she was curled up by the TV watching Farrow on the screen.

"S'there a nice boy waiting at home?" Miller prodded gently. Farrow jumped, having momentarily forgotten herself. She dropped her hand back into her lap.

"Something like that..." She sighed. When Farrow looked up, Miller was smiling at her.

"I think we've found our angle."

Farrow gritted her teeth as another wax strip was torn from her tender flesh. It had only been a few days since her original makeover, but a few millimetres of treacherous hair had grown back in its place so she had to go through it all again.

A flash of silver caught her eye, and she stared back at the simple ring on her hand. She'd be wearing it tonight, to the interview. It was integral to her story, after all.

The sounds of waxing and nail filing faded as she sunk back into a deeper level of focus. Her plan was risky, of course, but not as risky as some of the others she'd pulled off. Same-sex relationships were a simple thing in the Capitol, where marriages lasted months and love was a fleeting thing to chase. Truly, it felt like the only reaction she cared about were those of her family. Even if she won, if she fought her way to the top and won for her troubles, would she be welcomed back into her home?

That was a question she could ponder later, it seemed. Flora had arrived with a large black garment bag and she'd turned to room upside down with orders. While one person curled and styled her hair, another was applying thick layers of makeup to her face, and there were another two were painting her newly filed nails with a shimmering gold polish. 

In the hustle and bustle, it seemed she had somehow come out looking as planned. Flora gave her an approving nod and had her close her eyes again to step into the dress. She was not to open them until she was zipped and pinned, then laced into a pair of (thankfully) short heels. She was guided over to the mirror, and then she could see.

Farrow was gone, and in her place, that sun goddess had returned. She was a figure bathed in gold, that shimmered in the smallest light. The dress was a simple golden number that plunged at her neckline, with a high slit for her leg on the side. Her hair had been carefully styled into tastefully messy curls, with small dangling jewellery peppered between the stands. Her makeup was slightly darker, with carefully smudged eyeliner and full red lips. Miller had most likely consulted with Flora about their intended route. 

She thanked her prep team as profusely as she could, and they fell over themselves to assure her it was their pleasure to fix her.

Once they were gone, Flora placed an assuring hand on her shoulder. "You going to blind them, my darling."

Farrow nodded because she couldn't trust herself to make any noise better than a startled squeak. The nerves that she'd been fighting away all day had finally come, and they were hard to ignore. She pressed so hard on her anxiety pressure point it left a stark white park against her newly golden skin, and then she watched it slowly fade to a healthier red as they rode the elevator down to the bottom floor.

The roar of the crowd could be heard through the ceiling, or, she supposed, the stage, as they were herded into line with the other tributes. They would sit in a large arch behind Caesar and the person being interviewed. It was a relief because she didn't know how long she could stand in front of all those people.

Ash caught her eye for a split second, he was further up the line and was gesturing pointedly to pressure point she had taught him the other day. Throwing him a thumbs up, she fell back into line as they motioned for them all to make their way on stage, single file. Her breathing immediately fell shallow and shaky, but she forced herself to keep her composure and sit daintily back into her seat.

Caesar Flickerman, looking the same as he does every year (aside from the sunset orange of his hair and makeup), bounded onto the stage and jumped right into warming the audience up. Busting out jokes, tear-jerkers and suspense-filled moments like it was nothing to him. If there was one thing Farrow was certain about, she would at least have Caesar there to collect the pieces into something salvageable if she bombed.

The interviews started with District One's Gemma, who glided across the stage in her poofy white dress as if she was a cloud. Each tribute had three minutes to showcase their personalities to the sponsors. Miller had told her that a successful interview outlined their drive, motivations and wit, all the while keeping up a good banter with Caesar. It was a lot to think about, and she fiddled with the ring on her finger to keep her mind off of it.

Dior came out in a velvet suit and built up a good rapport about seeing Caesar in a few weeks, his cocky smile sending Capitol ladies swooning. Directly after him, Terra marched on out and promised the audience an exciting show. Something about the way her lip curled when she said it made Farrow's skin crawl.

The little boy from Four who had bean Reaped was actually quite charming and had the crowd wrapped around his little finger, based on the constant aww's and cooing. Five and Six passed without much trouble, though the boy from Five did seem about ready to pass out at any moment. Eventually, it was Ash who was walking up to Caesar, and she knew he would hit it out of the park.

Ash had that sort of personality that no one could hate. His nervousness came off as goofy, and when he compared the size of his hand to Caesar's head (which was smaller, minus the hair poof) he had the audience roaring with laughter. It went so well that by the end of the three minutes, he wasn't even pressing the back of his hand to stop his fidgeting.

Before she could even prepare properly, her name was being called.

Farrow rose from her chair, her face already plastered with that serene smile she'd practised for hours, and floated over to sit opposite Caesar. The audience was going wild, screaming her name, but there were so many lights pointed at her she couldn't quite make out individual faces. That relaxed her a bit.

"My, my, Miss Teff." Caesar began, a knowing smile on his face.

"Please, Caesar." She replied evenly, reaching over to push him playfully. "You of all people can call me Farrow."

Caesar roared about her cheekiness, and she laughed daintily. So far so good. She'd managed to make the crowd laugh and she hadn't slipped up. "But you should know, _Farrow_... We're all _dying_ to hear more about you. What with that eleven you pulled yesterday evening, am I right folks?!" The crowd screamed in ascent, and she tutted in reply. "Yes, yes, I know, darling. Very secret stuff. But can we not hear even the _tiniest_ hint?"

Farrow mocked out thinking for a moment, a manicured nail - the one holding her ring - to her chin in thought. Just as planned, Caesar's eye caught it in the light. Hook, line and sinker. "Well, I can't give you the details that you crave... But let's just say this." She said, leaning in as if about to tell the world's dirtiest gossip. "If you find me in there, my back against the wall with no weapons... Well, don't count me out in a hurry."

The audience screamed in delight. The perfect amount of suspense mixed with a dash of action and drama. The others would think she's talking about her hand-to-hand skill, but little did they know...

"Yes, well I'm sure we'll all keep that in mind," Caesar said, before gently taking her hand. The one with the ring. "Now Farrow, I can't help but notice this ring. It's not Capitol jewellery. Care to explain it's the significance?"

"Oh, Caesar, well spotted. I've brought it with me from District Nine, you see. I'll have it in the arena as my token, to remind me of home." Farrow said, staring wistfully down at her hands. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment the buzz of the audience and the glare of the lights faded. "Someone very special to me gave me this ring before I left, and I made a promise to them."

"A promise, you say." Caesar urged her on, and she could tell she had just about every dimwitted Capitolite on the edge of her seat. She sighed, set her shoulders back and found the first camera she could find, filling her gaze with every ounce of emotion she could. Everything before this, it had been an act. This, though. She knew somewhere out there, sitting beside her Uncle, Amaran was watching her.

"I promised her that I'd win. That I'd come back and hold her in my arms again." Farrow said, not breaking eye contact with the camera. "And I will do everything in my power to stay true to my word."

The buzzer went off and the audience swooned. She could hear cheers and sobs and everything in-between as she hugged Caesar and returned to her seat. Ash gave her a hidden thumbs up out of the corner of her eye, but all she could focus on was her district partner. More importantly, the stony, empty expression he held on his face.

As Farrow sat down and Grist was called up, she gave him a silent nod, but the cold expression was switched to dazzling smile in seconds as if it had never happened. Grist, the meek thirteen-year-old boy she'd watched stumble and stutter his way through the Capitol, strolled out on stage like it was nothing. His casual demeanour and clear attempts to avoid any questions about the games confused her, and when he looked up at the sky and asked his family to forgive him, Farrow realised what had happened.

Grist had given up. Before the game had even started.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Games begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've made it to the Games! I have a few cool ideas for traps and such, but I'll probably make most of it up as I go. Bloodbaths are always the hardest to write. It's such a hectic event, but you can't put so much detail in without it sounding mundane and wordy.  
> Also I had to re-write like half of this chapter because a stupid automatic update from my computer, so sorry if the writing towards the end seems a little rushed. It wasn't as good as the first time around.  
> Anyway, enjoy!

Farrow kept her composure for the rest of the evening, watching the rest of the interviews fly by and accepting her team's praises as they returned to their quarters. She had tried numerous times to pull Grist away from the group and talk to him, but he always came up with some excuse to run off or ignore her. She'd put up with it throughout dinner and the recaps, but when the boy scurried off after the show finished she'd had enough.

"I wouldn't worry about him," Miller said, suddenly appearing beside her. "He's not the only one to have given up. Some people don't make it past the train ride."

Farrow didn't say anything in response, and the party took the morose atmosphere of the room as their cue to leave. Flora wrapped her into another hug at the elevator, still yapping on about how amazing her interview was and how she would be up to see her bright and early tomorrow morning. Dionysus was next, and he was close to hysterics with how excited he was, and told her several times that he would be cheering for her every step of the way. When all of the Capitolites had left, she was left alone with her mentors.

The room was silent for a few moments as the three waited, all seemingly unwilling to start the conversation off. The looming threat of the games tomorrow hanging over their heads like a guillotine. Finally, Garner spoke up.

"Try not to die, yeah?" He said, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Farrow sent him a weak smile and nodded. "We'll be behind you every step of the way."

He turned on his heel and left the room before she could reply, making his way towards Grist's room. Farrow didn't have to try hard to understand his words. They'd been tense with each other ever since their fight on the train, but now he had at least a little hope for her. Miller smiled at her fellow mentor as he retreated.

"It's not often we get a tribute with odds as good as your's." The older woman said as if to explain her fellow mentor's actions. Opening her arms as an invitation, Farrow didn't hesitate to envelope herself in her mentor's embrace. As tough as she had to act for the crowds, she needed some comfort as much as anyone. "We won't be up to see you tomorrow. I'll be down in the mentor's centre lining up your sponsors."

Farrow nodded again. After a few minutes of companionable silence, she extracted herself from Miller's warm embrace. "Any last-minute advice?"

"Get out of the bloodbath as fast as possible," Miller replied with a smirk. They'd argued for days about whether she'd chance the Cornucopia to get supplies, but Farrow had been insistent. "From there, water is your top priority. And remember, this is all just a game to them. You have to give them a show."

It was all things she'd heard before, but it calmed her racing mind to hear it just once more. Saying goodnight, the two of them headed in their separate ways. Even if she should have probably been trying to fit in as much sleep as possible for tomorrow, Farrow couldn't help but listen to the voice in the back of her head urging her to talk to Grist while she still could.

So after peeling off her dress and scrubbing off all of her makeup in the shower, she changed into some night and escaped back into the hall. By this point, the others had retreated for the night, so she had no problem reaching Grist's door unnoticed. When she knocked, there was no answer. Based on the light streaming out from below the door, she had assumed he was still in his room, but maybe he'd gone off somewhere?

Farrow knocked once more, just to be sure. This time, a hoarse sounding voice called out from somewhere in the room.

"Go away, Garner." Grist said, his tone clipped in a way that told her their mentor's previous conversation hadn't gone well. She sighed.

"It's me." She said, hesitantly. There was a moment of silence, then some shuffling before the door opened to reveal Grist. He looked tormented, his eyes red and puffy from crying, his hair messy as if he'd been yanking at it for hours. He shot her an apprehensive look but pulled the door open further and let her inside. Unsure of what exactly to do, she hovered awkwardly by the bed, watching Grist march away and hunker down in front of the floor to ceiling window overlooking the city. 

"Are you going to say anything, or are you just going to stand there?" He asked, staring out into the expanse of flashing lights and colourful people. She made her way over and sat next to him, watching his face carefully. The party down in the streets was still in full swing, but up there in their little world, it felt like the world was holding its breath with anticipation.

"You couldn't sleep either?" She asked tentatively. When she received only a shrug in return, she pushed on. "I guess no one can. I can't help but worry about tomorrow."

Grist moved like he wanted to say something, but seemed to second guess himself, deflating. "It doesn't matter. I was never a contender in these Games anyway."

"You shouldn't say stuff like that," Farrow replied. "No one knows how this is gonna go. Plenty of people have gotten worse scores than you and won."

"It's not just the scores, Farrow." Grist said with a scoff. "Of course you wouldn't understand. You're the Capitol's sweetheart, they practically kiss the ground you walk on!"

Farrow blinked, unsure of how to respond. It was like a slap in the face. She wanted desperately to defend herself, tell him that it wasn't her on that stage, that it was all just an act. Only, she was unsure if that was what he was truly angry about. And he was angry, she could see him silently brooding beside her, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself down. "Grist..."

"No, don't try and act all high and mighty with me. You knew from the start that I wasn't a competitor, the way you looked at me at the Reaping." Grist muttered, fists bunched up, knuckles white. She shrunk in on herself, shame coiling in a deep puddle in her gut. "If you actually had any hope in me, you'd have asked me to join your little alliance with that guy from Seven. I'm sure you'll both make it far, get lots of sponsors..."

The two of them sat in silence. It was the most she'd ever heard the boy speak, other than earlier that evening at the interviews. "Grist, what do you want me to say? That I'm sorry I did better than you in training? That I'm sorry the Capitol took more interest in me? I'm just trying to get _home_. We all are."

"Of course." Grist spat out bitterly. He stood, motioning for the door. "I think it's time for you to go and get some rest. You have a Game to win, after all."

His words left no room for argument. Even if they did, Farrow wasn't sure if she could come up with anything in her defence. She just pressed her lips into a thin line, pushing herself and moving towards the open door. Pausing at the door, she cast another look back at her district partner. He was staring out the window now, pointedly looking away from her as he held himself in his arms. Turning away, she left and closed the door behind her, going back to her room.

Farrow spent the rest of the night falling in and out of a nervous slumber. She kept thinking of the very real possibility that she would be dead by this time tomorrow, and how her entire family would be forced to watch it. How Amaran would have to see her lifeless body as it was ridiculed by the commentators. The more she thought of her friend back home, the worse she felt.

But then, thinking of the desolate look in the eyes of the boy in the next room over, she felt her resolve harden. She couldn't lose herself to despair, no matter how easy it was. There were people back home who needed her.

Pulling the ring nestled on her finger to her lips, she took comfort in the smooth metal on her skin. Wherever Amaran was, at least she wasn't here.

By dawn, Farrow was almost relieved to see Flora when she came to fetch her. The Capitol woman was more withdrawn than usual as she dressed her in the standard shift and lead her up to the roof. The peppy attitude came back as soon as they were seated in the hovercraft, flying through the sky towards whatever arena would hold their Games, but she could see the morose look on her stylist's face in the quiet moments. In those moments that Flora thought she wasn't looking.

Farrow was glad for her stylist's apparent love for her own voice, as it gave her a nice distraction from the heavy rock that had settled in her stomach since the morning. She was able to eat the breakfast that was left out for her and guzzle down a few glasses of water, at least.

After a half-hour or so the windows went dark and the hovercraft started its descent from the clouds, meaning they had arrived. Flora hopped up and guided her to the ladder once more, going down through a metal tube into the catacombs under the arena. When they arrived in their little compartment (the stockyard, Farrow remembered bitterly), she showered and brushed her teeth as Flora went to collect the outfit she was to wear. None of the stylists got a say in the clothes they wore in the arena, and she could see Flora inspecting each article of clothing as she passed them to her. Over a plain set of undergarments, she wore a loose white cotton shirt and tan cargo pants. There was a thin jacket made of some odd material to wear over it, and a sturdy set of leather boots that seemed to be good for walking.

"The jacket reflects light well, but it won't preserve any warmth. The pants have a zipper to change them into shorts." Flora stated as she had Farrow move around and stretch in the new clothes. "Expect someplace warm."

Farrow nodded to indicate she understood and allowed Flora to coax some more food and water into her. She could only handle a few bites of fruit, already struggling to keep down her other breakfast. The rock in her stomach had crumbled and released a swarm of wasps, and she kept massaging her hands to try and stop the terrible shake they'd developed.

"So..." Flora gulped, staring blankly at the circular plate in the corner of the room. That was the place where she would enter the arena. "You don't need to be nervous, of course. You got the highest score in training, and a pile of sponsors backing you. Miller's been working her butt off arranging deals."

Again, Farrow nodded. The wasps inside her were becoming so violent that they threatened to burst their way out from under her skin. She scratched at arm just thinking about it.

"And, I believe in you!" Flora said, reaching out and grasping her hand. For a moment, her stylist sat in silence, gazing down at the ring on her finger. "All you need to do is trust your instincts! I'll be designing your Victory Tour outfits in no time."

Farrow appreciated the woman's concern, but she'd already reached max capacity for advice from Miller's near frantic rambling the previous night. 'Don't go too far into the Cornucopia, grab as many things as you can without jeopardizing your safety, find water ASAP'. She let her mentor's words clash around in her mind until they all blended into garbled noise.

"Sixty seconds to launch."

This was it.

Standing on the circular metal plate, it was like the whole world paused. Compared to just seconds earlier, she felt numb. Flora wasn't attempting to fill the silence anymore, just standing across from Farrow with an odd look on her face. When the sixty seconds was up and the glass walls of the cylinder surrounded her, she let out a shaky breath. Flora tapped the bottom of her chin, and Farrow followed her lead and rose her chin up.

As the plate below her rose out of the room, she forced herself to push everything from her mind. Remembering her father's words once more, Farrow set her shoulders back, faced the danger head-on, and emerged into the arena with a focused glare on her face.

The sunlight was blinding after so long underground, but it only took a few seconds to right herself. She had another sixty seconds to take in her surroundings before the games began. She could distantly hear the voice of Claudius Templesmith welcoming the tributes to the Sixty-Sixth Hunger Games, but her focus was drawn to land around her. The area around the glistening Cornucopia was flat and dry, a packed circle of dirt with various supplies and packs were strewn across it. Further back, they were surrounded on all sides by fields of tall, dry grass stretching as far as she could see. There were juts of odd trees and the odd hill, but it seemed relatively flat. The tip of the golden horn pointed to a large glittering water hole.

The counter ticked down to fifty. Farrow turned back to the task at hand. She scoured the ring of tributes for Ash, finding him four plates to her left. Next to her, though, was Grist.

Farrow locked eyes with the boy right as he looked up. He was running his fingers over his token from home, a tattered string of beads that hung limply around his wrist. He stared straight down, inching his way closer to the edge of his metal plate. Farrow body nearly convulsed with a shock when she realised he wasn't moving forward to get a head start, surely not with forty seconds still on the clock. He was trying to work up the courage to jump forward. To kill himself.

"Grist!" She called, unable to stop herself. He didn't look up this time, moving another inch forward. "What are you doing? Grist! STOP-"

Without warning, a strangled cry left the boy's throat as he all but dived off his platform. His body had barely touched the ground when the landmines beneath the ground blew him to pieces. Farrow couldn't look away, couldn't move as the blood of her district partner splattered at her boots. Faintly, she could hear the countdown continue. Above them, the canon that signalled the death of a tribute went off, already marking these Games as a special one; it was rare for the canon to go off before the Games even officially started. Farrow clenched her hands into tight fists to keep them from shaking, biting her lip so hard she threatened to draw blood. There were twenty-three of them left, and twenty-two more would die. 

No. Farrow thought, tearing her eyes away from the mangled puddle of a corpse just a few yards to the left. She ignored the smell of smoke and blood and glared ahead at the Cornucopia. She wasn't surprised, truly, if she thought back to those soulless eyes just last night. He had ended it on his own terms. He'd gotten his own ending.

There would be a time and a place to mourn the young boy, but here, about to fight to the death, was sure as hell, not that time. Grist's death had just proven to her that there was no way these games were ending without her surviving. 

Most of the other tributes had shaken themselves out of their stupors. The countdown had just dipped below fifteen. Her muscles were tense as she scanned the ground in front of her. The supplies grew less and less helpful the further away from the Cornucopia they were, but just a few metres before her she could spot the glint of metal through a few tufts of grass. A knife.

Ten.

She rolled her shoulders and dropped into a crouching start, trying desperately to ignore the empty plate beside her, the flecks of blood that already littered the ground in front of her.

Nine.

Scanning the other tributes, she saw the change that so often happened when the Games started. Those who had been smaller, more frightened before had settled into a mask of grim determination. A few of the more cocky ones had looks of thinly veiled terror in their eyes. Ash, just a few plates over, gave her a small nod, looking a little green as he passed over the grisly remains between them.

Five.

Okay, she could do this. 

Four.

Farrow thought of all the people watching her at this very moment. Not the greedy eyes of the Capitolites, but those of her district. With Grist now gone, everybody back home would be willing her to survive.

Three.

Her friends, her family. Amaran. Her grip turned vice-like in the smooth metal below her as she remembered the devastated looks of her loved ones when she was Reaped. 

Two.

She would do this. She would shoot forward and grab the knife, then the brown leather pack nestled ten or so metres back from it. Then she would run. Ash would regroup with her and they would slip away into the grass. She would survive.

One.

Farrow would win.

The gong sounded, and for a moment it was quiet as they all raced in different directions. Farrow stooped low and caught the handle of the knife. Not stopping for even a second as she pumped her legs forwards towards her bag. It was hers.

A pair of hands grasped the fabric of her jacket right as she caught the handle of the backpack, pulling her to a halt. Without a second thought, she spun back and slammed her body into her foe. It was the girl from Eleven. She was trying to wrestle the bag from her grip.

Farrow gritted her teeth and yanked as hard as she could. The sound of her blood pumping in her ears was almost deafening. The bag was threatening to tear under the strain. There was no time. More and more tributes were joining the fray. She needed to escape.

So when Eleven's focus shifted slightly, her grip faltering for just a second, Farrow stuck without thinking. The knife in her hand swept through the air in a wide arch, cutting a clean line through the girl's throat. Physically, it was simple. She watched the tribute from Eleven crumpled to the ground, letting go of the bag to claw desperately at her neck. Her heartbeat was uncontrollable as she stared at the corpse in front of her. There was blood on her hands. Her face. Time slowed down as her mind caught up with her actions. She'd done it. She'd murdered someone.

Farrow could hardly control her breathing. She was battling to keep her breakfast down. The bag in her hands - her prize, her spoils of war - felt unbearably heavy. Distantly, the logical part of her brain chastised her for thinking that way. This was the Hunger Games, and the dead girl in front of her meant one less obstacle between her and home. But she couldn't. All she could do to stop herself from breaking down completely was run.

The bag was around her shoulders now, slamming against her bag as she sprinted away from the dead girl. Away from the Bloodbath. She crashed into the wall of grass and pumped her legs up and down, running faster than she ever had. The heat on her back and the sweat that dripped down her face were just minor distractions as she went, the dry grass scratching at her face and arms.

Farrow didn't know how long she had run, but the sounds of battle had long since faded to silence and her legs felt like lead below her. The boom of a cannon was the thing to finally stop her and she all but collapsed on the ground as she listened. The cannon signified the end of the bloodbath, and the total amount of shots fired numbered the tributes dead so far. All in, she counted eleven

Nearly half of the tributes, gone in the first hour. One by her own hands. 

"Stop." She muttered to herself, pushing herself up so she was sitting. Farrow hadn't taken herself as the type to talk to herself, but with her mind so muddled and no one around, she needed to hear a clear instruction. "Focus."

This was the Hunger Games, and if there was one thing she absolutely could not do, it was to lose her advantage of the Capitol liking her. She'd already put that at risk by running, but hopefully, the excitement of the initial bloodbath had distracted them enough from her. Farrow took a few minutes to gather herself, pushing all the garbled thoughts from her mind to focus on the gentle push and pull of her breathing. 

When her heart rate had finally stabilized, she took stock of her surroundings. The seemingly endless fields of tall grass had opened up into the small clearing in which she was sitting in, about the size of her house back home and with two openings on each side that lead to what must have been paths. The grass under her was greener than the tall grass, an that green colour grew richer as it approached the centre of the clearing where an odd-looking tree sat, alone. She'd never seen this type of tree before. Wide and bulbous at the base of its trunk, with smooth reddish-grey bark and only a small cluster of branches jutting from the very top. Farrow spotted a few small monkeys and birds perched on those branches, but they were too high up for her to get a proper look at.

Next, she searched the contents of her pack, pointedly ignoring the small patch of dried blood splattered on its side. Despite its distance from the Cornucopia, it held a few quality items. There was a small and very limited first aid kit, a bottle of iodine, a compass, two packs of dried beef and a large water bottle, which was bone dry. The bag itself was a light brown leather and pretty sturdy, but couldn't hold much more than what was already in it.

With that sorted, Farrow put everything but the compass back and slung the pack over her shoulders again. Based on the clear break in the grass in the place where she came from, she used the compass to determine she had run South West from the Cornucopia. She cursed herself for leaving such an obvious trail. There was a small hope that Ash would have seen her go and could follow her here, but that just meant the same could be said for the Careers.

Farrow knew that she couldn't stay, so with the compass in hand, she picked one of the two paths that lead her West and tried to put as much distance between herself and the Careers. Her first priority was finding water, but if she could find her ally along the way that would be a sure bonus.

Unless of course, Ash had already been killed.

She tried not to think about it. About the very real possibility of the only two people she halfway trusted in the Games being gone in the first hour. The image of Ash, dead in the grass as she fled plagued her as she trekked through the man-made paths, and she found herself willing the day to close so she could at least have her answer in the form of the death recap at midnight. She knew her chances of facing the Careers with Ash were slim, but by herself they were non-existent. 

By the time she deemed it safe enough to stop and rest, the sun was low on the horizon. She needed shelter, but her barren surroundings didn't exactly burst with places to hunker down and hide for the night. She couldn't just lay down in the path, she'd be a sitting duck to any tribute or mutt that passed her. So that just left in the grass. Moving far enough into the field so she couldn't see through it (and so no one could see in), she used her knife to cut the grass at the base to make a space just large enough for her to lay down in. From there, she twisted and folded her lengths of grass into a small mat for her to lie on. The lady at the shelter station back in training had taught her the importance of a bed, not for comfort, but so that the ground didn't leech all the heat from your body.

She had managed to finish her makeshift bed with only the last rays of the setting sun, and darkness enveloped the arena. With her pack under her head a suitable pillow, she lay down and rested. Her mouth was already starting to dry out, and her stomach was feeling very empty without the usual amounts of rich Capitol foods she had been eating for the last week.

She thought back to the waterhole she had seen next to the Cornucopia. Surely that wouldn't be the only source of water. Just two games ago they limited the source to a central lake, and all the Careers had to do was sit back and pick off the rest of the tributes as they came to try and collect some water for themselves. After they had all been slaughtered, the Victor, Cashmere Nicholo, had won in a brawl between the last of the Careers. It had been a good fight in the end but had only lasted a week, and the Capitol was very underwhelmed.

No, there had to be another water source. Her search today had turned up nothing, the endless paths she had walked through bare of any pond or stream, but tomorrow she would have all day to continue her hunt. And, besides, these fields of grass and trees had to get water from somewhere.

Her thoughts of food and water kept her going until the dark sky above her burst with light and the anthem blared overhead. The Capitol seal was glaring down at her, but all too soon it was replaced by the first picture of a fallen tribute. It was the girl from Three, followed by her district partner and the boy from Five. That meant all five Careers were still alive. Unsurprising. Next was the boy from Six, and then...

It was the girl from Eight. Farrow felt a huge weight being pulled from her shoulders. Her ally was alive. She had no idea about his condition, whether he was hurt or worse, but at least he wasn't dead. She sunk back down into her makeshift bed as the boy From Eight's face flashed in the sky. Then, of course, was Grist. Whatever small comfort she had received before had been firmly knocked from her grasp now.

Seeing his face up in the sky made her realise just how small Grist was, his cheeks not having lost their baby fat quite yet. The image was blurry, but she searched his face, knowing it would be the last time she would see it for a long time. The small cowlick that plagued their stylists, the almost dimple on one side of his smile. Farrow had to force herself not to burst into tears as his smiling face disappeared, replaced by the boy from District Ten. Grist had told her himself that he was doomed, and despite her mentor's words, she couldn't help but think it was her fault. She had forced him into her shadow, drew all the attention so that there was no hope he would survive. Just last night, he had snapped at her. Had called her out for not believing in him. And he was right. She had all but pushed him from the starting plate herself.

Blankly, she watched the rest of the tributes flash by. Both tributes from Eleven, the girl from Twelve. The girl from Eleven's face and the gash Farrow had made in her throat, haunted her as she closed her eyes. She thought about how little they had interacted, and how frighteningly simple it had been to kill her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Games continue. Farrow meets some fellow tributes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;-; ya'll its time for some real shit. 
> 
> Drama! Romance! BLOODSHED!

The first thing to cross Farrow's mind when she woke was her thirst. 

She had been hoping to not be so affected so soon, but with the dry heat of the arena, it was like all the moisture had been drained from her body. The regular length of time someone could last without water was three days, even less in direct sunlight like she was. Knowing this, she was filled with a burst of energy. If she didn't continue her search for water, she would surely die. The dried beef didn't help the sandpaper-like feeling of her tongue, but it stopped the hollow feeling of her stomach, which was helpful.

Her bed gave her pause as she packed up her things. It would be easier to track her movements if she left such a large piece of evidence, but she couldn't exactly take it with her, or take the time to disassemble it. Finally, she decided to just leave it. There was still a thick wall of grass obscuring it from sight, but she felt uneasy as she carefully parted the grass and returned to the path.

The monotony of her surroundings quickly became mind-numbing. The maze of paths and fields felt endless, the only thing assuring her that she wasn't just heading in circles was the fact that she was still heading West. The only discernable difference she could make out was the height of the grass, sometimes above her head, sometimes low enough she had to crouch slightly to keep herself hidden. She had to constantly remind herself that she wasn't alone, that there were cameras hidden at every turn and, although she wasn't doing anything exciting, they would be constantly rotating the field of view to keep things semi-interesting.

Even then, it was a relief when she finally reached another one of those clearings. This one was absent of any of those odd trees, but held a splattering of bushes and what looked like random holes in the ground.

Wary of the holes, Farrow gave them a wide arch as she went to inspect the thicket of bushes. Her mouth was watering at the sight of them, desperate for the relief the juices will provide. Despite all that, she takes a minute to inspect them, not wanting to go down to poison on only the second day. The berries looked just like blackberries, the dark plump fruit growing in clusters. Still, she took the time to crush the berry between her fingers, trying to rule out any similar yet deadly duple gangers. 

When she was finally sure that they were blackberries, she hurried to strip the bushes of their fruits. Since her water bottle was empty, she used that to hold most of them and helped herself to her newfound meal until her tongue finally didn't feel like sandpaper in her mouth. The juice from the berries refreshed her, but she knew that it wasn't a substitute for real water. 

The sun was setting now, and she hurried to make another bed behind the wall of grass in the clearing. It wasn't her best work, but when the stress and the aches of all the walking caught up with her, it didn't take long for sleep to claim her.

In her dreams, she was sitting in the back of Bailey's old truck. The scene was so real, she could see the individual spots of rust and wear in the tray, she could feel the raised edges of the green paint slowly chipping away, and she could smell the distinct scent of motor oil and.

Amaran's head popped over the side of the truck, making her jump. The smaller girl thought it was hilarious, and she was still giggling by the time she'd climbed into the tray and settled beside her. It was a cool evening, in the period after work finished but before curfew when they would often escape to the boundaries of the district. Farrow huffed and rested her head back against the body of the truck, letting her eyes close.

It didn't take long for Amaran's gentle hands to find her shoulders, kneading the tense muscles until they were putty in her hands. It was in these quiet moments, away from work and their families, that they dared to be so close. "I reckon we'd be able to make it to Thirteen with a full tank."

Farrow's forehead creased as the other girl's words registered in her mind. It wasn't often that they discussed such topics, only when they were sure they were alone. Farrow would humour Amaran, but never allowed herself to have much hope in their whispered plans of escape. "That's why they don't let you take a full tank."

"They wouldn't know until it's too late." Amaran drawled, withdrawing her hands and slumping so that her head lay in Farrow's lap, looking up into the darkening sky. She didn't hesitate to pull her fingers through the girl's blonde locks, carefully de-tangling any knots she got caught on. "Just a full tank, then give our life savings to the border guards as a bribe, and we're gone."

"And then what?" Farrow asked, then immediately sighed, regretting the clipped tone she used. "Thirteen is rubble. We'd make it there and get mauled by a bear or something. You shouldn't put so much stock in those old wives tales."

Amaran didn't respond. They'd had this talk countless times, and yet they never came to the same conclusion. Farrow would always have to be the one to bring Amaran back to reality. I hurt, but not as much as the pain of losing her to the firing squad would be. She unconsciously pressed a little too hard into the smaller girl's scalp at the thought.

"Farrow," Amaran said, shifting her gaze away from the sky to look at her, her eyes swimming with that same determination that she'd loved for so long. "I can't live without you. You know that, right?"

Farrow almost laughed, trailing her hands down from the girl's hair to cup her jaw. "Do you have to ask?"

She woke up, still feeling the faint warmth of Amaran's cheek in her hand. The silver band on her finger glinted in the morning sun, and the all too familiar feeling of dryness had settled upon her once more. She crushed a few berries in her mouth, but the relief was temporary. Her whole body was tense. Not much had happened since the Bloodbath, and the Gamemakers were bound to force them together or throw mutts at them if something didn't happen soon. 

Stripping as many berries as she could from the bushes, she stuffed them into her water bottle and packed up her little camp, heading for the path opposite the one she had come from. She'd survived her second night in the arena, but that wouldn't last if she couldn't find water. Her head was already starting to fog up, each step taking a surprising amount of focus to accomplish.

As she walked, she found herself thinking back to the dream she'd had last night. It wasn't often that she dreamed at all, but they were usually a lot more abstract and didn't have clear memories attached to them. That night by the border had happened, maybe a year ago. It was the closest they'd gotten to breaching that line, admitting how much they both meant to each other. Now, though, it felt eerie. Amaran had told her that she couldn't live without her, and now that would really be put to the test. Despite all of that, Farrow couldn't help but think about what would happen if she did return to District Nine, as a Victor of the Hunger Games.

First, she'd killed someone. That was something she'd have to deal with for the rest of her life. No matter what her friends or family had said about coming home no matter what it took, would they keep to their word? She would come back changed, with blood on her hands.

Her hands. At that moment, they were pretty grimy. She had come to the Capitol with her hands calloused and rough, workers hands. But in their full-body makeover, they'd all but sanded down to her last layer of skin. Caked in a layer of dusty earth and berry juice, her hands were still soft and smooth. It felt unnatural to her, and she almost felt relieved by the small blisters forming on the pads of her hands from gripping her knife so hard.

Her head was cloudy, but her hearing was still sharp. So, when she heard the telltale signs of footsteps behind her, she all but dived into the tall grass. Her grip on her knife was iron tight, and she focused on keeping her shaky breathing quiet as she lied in wait for whatever was trailing her.

It took a while, the footsteps much louder than she previously thought. Instead of being right behind her, the footsteps grew closer and louder until a tribute shambled into view. It was the young boy from Four, and she held back a wince as she spotted the massive wound on his stomach that he was frantically pressing against. The boy was pale and shaking, barely able to keep himself upright, let alone put one foot in front of the other.

She wasn't surprised when he finally collapsed, sobbing into the earth as he clutched his abdomen. Farrow stood, just meters away, unsure of what to do. The smart thing would be to run while she still could. Who or whatever had inflicted that wound on him could still be tailing him, and she knew she would be a sitting duck if she stayed.

In her moment of hesitance, the boy met her eye. He didn't speak, but his eyes flashed with recognition as he all but slumped to the ground. She cursed herself for her indecision, but slipped out of the grass and moved cautiously to the boy's side. Slowly, as if approaching a wide animal. The boy whimpered as she moved closer, his cheeks wet with tears, but didn't try to escape or attack.

"Please..." He muttered, barely able to push the words past his lips before he writhed in pain again. Farrow softened, reached out and running a hand through his curly blonde hair. "It hurts too bad."

"I know." She whispered, trying to soothe the young boy as best as she could. Her knife felt heavy in her hand, but she didn't let it go. Now that she was up close, she could see the wound on his stomach was cavernous, inflicted by some sort of mace. The gore was hard to look at, but she powered through it and looked back at the boy. In his eyes, she could see there was no hope. That wound was not one to be recovered from.

"I tried to go to her for help." He explained between pained breaths, his face contorted into a mask of betrayal. She nodded, not having to think too hard to know who had stabbed him. The girl from Four, his District partner, had publically condemned him when he tried to sit with her at training. Farrow couldn't understand how someone could go out of their way to kill someone asking for help, let alone someone from their own district. Whenever it did happen in the Games, the perpetrator almost always lost favour with the viewers. "I just want the pain to go away... I want... this nightmare to end."

"It's alright now." She said, hushing him. "Close your eyes. Think of home... No one can hurt you anymore."

The boy nodded, resting his head back onto the grass. He didn't speak again, but his twisted expression relaxed somewhat, the small crease between his brows disappearing. Farrow continued to run her fingers through his hair, whispering comforting words as she lifted her knife to rest just above his heart. She held back her tears as she whispered an apology, before finally sinking the blade into his tiny body, watching him go limp against her, hearing the cannon fire. Farrow stood, wiping a stray tear away with the sleeve of her jacket.

She had to move, had to clear out so that the hovercraft could come and take the body. But she couldn't get her limbs working, couldn't tear her eyes away from the corpse of the young boy before her.

"Finished him off for me?"

Her muscles snapped to action at the sound of the voice, and she whipped around to face the newcomer. The girl from Four, Adira, if her memory served, was smirking at her from a few meters away. A bloody mace, the one that had killed the boy next to her, was held loosely in her hands.

Farrow narrowed her eyes and held her knife, still slick with blood. When Adira noticed, her smirk only grew wider.

"The little shrimp was cute, but it gets old quick." She said casually as if talking about something as mundane as the weather. Farrow realised she was stalling, obviously waiting for the other Careers to come back her up. "I'm glad I bumped into you, though. You're an obstacle."

"I'm sorry about that," Farrow said icily, drawing back her knife as if to throw it. The effect was immediate, and Adira jumped forward to try and land a crushing blow to her skull. She jumped back at just the right time, allowing her a moment to jab the girl in the throat with her fist. Too fast, Adira recovered and came for her again, this time fueled with rage.

Farrow swiped at her with her blade, but it was too short and she was nearly impaled by the other girl's weapon as she dived to get to cover again.

"Just a few more swings. Then you'll tire out. No more running." Adira seethed, aiming for another blow. "Then you'll be dead, Nine."

Farrow dodged the swing, the mace catching at the material of her jacket and nearly ripping it. She didn't take the girl's words as an exaggeration. If she couldn't escape soon, she'd either get a mace to the skull or have the entire Career pack to deal with. Desperately, Farrow dived forward. Adira, obviously not expecting the wild move, moved her weapon up to hit her stomach, the blunt handle pushing the air out of her lungs while the spiked head found its mark on her hip. Farrow gritted her teeth, pushing past the near-unbearable pain, and pressed the tips of her fingers into the crook of the other girl's hips, paralyzing her legs instantly. They both tumbled to the ground, Adira losing her grip on her mace as she went.

Farrow was on top of her now, and in an instant, her knife was piercing through Adira's chest, directly into her heart. She had no time think, but now that it was done, she could see the desperate, confused expression on the other girl's face. Farrow could tell, she hadn't expected to lose. Yet, here she was. Farrow yanked her knife out, causing a shocking amount of blood to gush from the wound in her chest. Adira locked eyes with her and took her last breath. The cannon sounded.

As soon as it was done, Farrow jumped off of the girl's corpse and ran as fast as she could in the opposite direction, fleeing into the tall grass, thankful for the cover it hopefully provided from the cameras. She was crying. She could feel the tears rush down her cheeks as she fled the scene. Her hip ached from where Adira's mace had struck her, and she felt dizzy from blood loss and dehydration.

She couldn't hear the sounds of anyone pursuing her, but that didn't stop her from running until she physically couldn't anymore. She eventually crashed into another clearing and managed to stumble over to the tree in the centre, sitting down and bracing herself against its sturdy trunk.

Pulling back the fabric of her shirt, which was now stuck to her body with the semi-dried blood, she winced at the sight of several nasty gashes on her left hip. Adira had done a number on her with that final blow, and all the adrenalin had drowned it out. Now that she was resting, without all the panic, the pain was slowly coming back to her. She sat back against the odd trees to keep herself upright, then rifled through her pack for that tiny first aid kit.

The kit contained a few sterile gauze dressings, as well as a few lengths of medical tape, plasters and burn cream. No bandages. She drenched the gauze in some iodine, using it to try and disinfect the gash as best as possible. The dressing was quickly drenched in blood, and she had to rip a large section of fabric from the back of her shirt to press up against it. Farrow soon found it to be useless. The mace had left several short but deep gashes, and they were all bleeding too heavily. There wasn't much she could do without proper medical equipment. With the fabric pressed desperately against her side - trying and failing to quell the bleeding - she groaned, tipping her head back against the tree behind her.

For a moment, she truly believed that she was going to die. Bleeding out after killing two people. The thought of it made her heart clench. She couldn't die now, she made a promise. Who would help Rai with his English homework? Who would take over cooking dinner when Dad's body was too shaky from exhaustion? Who would be there to hold Amaran at the end of the day, if she died? Her body was wracked with sobs as she grieved the life she would lose. She was dizzy with dehydration, racked with pain and weak from blood loss. She was in a sorry state. She needed water, she needed bandages and proper medical attention. But to get that, she needed sponsors. And lots of them, considering medicine was pretty expensive.

Miller was there, suddenly. They were back in their apartment on the night before the games. She had her usual soft smile, and her hand was resting on Farrow's shoulder. "Remember, its all a game to them. Give them a show."

Farrow finally understood what she had meant. To get sponsors, she needed to be exciting. And she couldn't be exciting bleeding out on the ground.

Weakly, she brought her hand to her chest, looking down at the band of silver around her finger. Her hand was covered in blood. By this point, she didn't know if it was her's or either of her victims'. She thought about her family back at home, having just watched her kill two people, and were now watching her bleed to death. She thought of Amaran, with her identical ring on one of her slender fingers, and she was crying even harder

Farrow brought the ring to her lips, not sure if the shaking was coming from her hallucinations or her body. "I'm sorry." She whispered, loud enough for the cameras to pick up on. She needed to give them a show, but that didn't mean it wasn't real. She remembered the frantic way Amaran had begged her to come home, the panicked way she'd kissed her. Farrow's fist clenched every so slightly. _"I need to come back home."_

She wasn't counting, but it was only a matter of minutes until she saw the pristine white parachute descending towards her.

Her hands snatched it out of the air before it could touch the ground, ripping the top off the metal canister to get to the gifts it had brought. Inside was a much more detailed and extensive first aid kit. There were bandages, pain-killers, antiseptics, wound gels and even a small tube of expensive Capitol healing balm. She almost fainted at the sight of it, knowing how expensive it might have been to procure. One thing that stuck out was the lack of water, which she was a little upset by. There was a note, too. _'The answer lies below you. -M'_ What that meant, she didn't have a clue.

Instead, she got to work cleaning and dressing her injuries. The antiseptic's white-hot pain nearly made her blackout, but she gritted her teeth and pushed through it. Besides, after the expensive medical balm had been applied, the bleeding slowly ebbed and the pain mellowed into a sort of dull ache, versus the constant stabbing it had been previously. She placed one of the dressings over her wounds and fixed it into place with some of the tape, before wrapping her waist with the clean bandages. It was a slow go, any sudden movements sending a sharp pain down her side. Eventually, she deemed it good enough and let herself slump back against the tree. The arena was getting colder, and the sun hadn't even set yet. Farrow knew the Gamemakers tried to lower the temperature as the Games went on, but it still felt a little early for that. Moreover, her top half was still just as hot as normal, it was just her legs that were chilled all of a sudden.

Farrow placed a hand tentatively on the ground, finding the ground cool to the touch. And wet.

Her eyes shot open as she pulled herself up, ignoring the pain in her side as she inspected the ground below her. It was slightly damp, but when she felt her pants, they were soaked. Slowly, she pressed her palm against the grass near the base of the tree, feeling the unmistakable presence of water beneath her fingers. Then, when she pressed down further, she gasped, watching the grass bend like elastic, a small pool of water collecting in the new dent. As soon as she lifted her hand, the ground popped back up, and the water disappeared.

She almost laughed. All of this time spent searching, and she was passing by water at every turn. How infuriating that must have been to watch! 'The answer lies below you'! If she made it out of this arena alive she'd beat the shit out of Miller's cryptic ass herself.

Not bothering to wait, she emptied her bottle of the berries into the empty parachute canister and pushed the ground down again, watching on with a huge grin as the water pooled and flowed into her bottle. She had to feel around at different spots around the tree to fill it, but once she had a full two litres she hurried to drop the correct amount of iodine into the bottle and waited with bated breath, counting down the thirty minutes (down to the last second) until it was safe to drink.

"Slowly, easy now," Farrow whispered to herself, taking tiny sips of the wonderfully cool water over the course of an hour until it was gone. Then, she filled it up again and set up another bed in the grass behind the tree while the iodine did its magic. Feeling insurmountably better, Farrow sat in her makeshift camp sipping water and indulging in a few strips of beef, as well as a handful of berries. It was the first time she felt satisfied in days, and she knew now that she had a source of water, she could put more of a focus onto finding her ally.

The night sky flashed with colour as the anthem blared, and her momentary respite was halted by the image of the boy from Four. His name was Seaton Rider. She hadn't bothered to learn it back during their time in the Capitol, but here she was, holding back tears at the reminder of his death.

'Stupid.' She thought to herself, leaning back to rest her head on her pack. 'Who am I to cry for him? I had barely known him. I was the one to push my blade through his heart. To end his life. I have no right.'

Then came Adira, her haughty smile in her picture contrasting the wide-eyed terror she'd displayed as Farrow drove her knife through her chest. 

The anthem swelled and concluded, and she let out a breath she didn't know she was holding when the girl's face finally disappeared. Another two people, dead by her hands. That makes three. Three dead children. Three families with a vacant seat at the table. Farrow flipped herself around, burying her face into her grass mat to hide from the cameras. She could not deal with the shame.

And as she fell into a fitful sleep, she let herself mourn the young boy from Four. She let herself mourn the young girl from Four. Not only the lives she had ended but the lives they had forfeited by their names being pulled from a glass jar. From the Capitol's insatiable greed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So did the little kid from Four have something up his sleeve? ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Farrow searches for her ally. She finds one too many.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one had come out a little late! I'm in the middle of HSC exams (those are the SAT equivalents for Australia btw) and my schedule for writing had sort of gone out the window. This chapter is sort of exciting, though! Lemme know what you think :)

Farrow woke to the sound of the cannon firing.

The sun still had not risen, and it took her a few moments to place herself after being awoken so suddenly. The memories came in chunks. Arena. Grass. Pain. Hunger Games. As the last echoes of the cannon faded, Farrow realised what that meant and felt her whole body tense and she looked out beyond the horizon above the tall grass to try and place where the person had died.

She lay in wait for a few minutes, but the fallen tribute must have been too far away, as she didn't see any hovercraft appear.

Another one down. That makes fourteen. Just ten left.

Farrow fell back onto her mat, not bothering trying to get back to sleep. Now that she was awake, she was thirsty. Once she had downed her water (along with another couple pain killers) and filled it back up again, she was too energised to even attempt to get a few more hours of sleep. No, it was better to get a move on earlier than later. The berries she had collected were starting to go a little bad, so - not wanting to waste them - she ate half of what was remaining and saved the rest for tonight.

The water had definitely helped, but the heat was starting to get tedious. It reminded her of the summers back in Nine, when the days would grow longer and the work would get harder, more and more people keening over from heatstroke or dehydration in the fields. But at least when they were working they could spray themselves with water from the hoses when the Peacekeepers weren't looking. She didn't want to waste her drinking water, but she did end up stripping and letting the water under the grass wash the dirt, blood and sweat from her skin and hair. She left her short hair out to dry, enjoying the cool droplets of water that would occasionally fall onto her shoulders.

Feeling better now that she was semi-clean, she decided to do a little experimenting. The ground directly next to the tree trunk sunk what she supposed was a foot deep until her hand met some sort of resistance, what she guessed was the ground below. The grass grew less green as it furthered from the tree, as did the give of the elastic grass. She moved slowly away from the base of the tree, pressing her hands down into the grass to test how deep it went. The slope was gentle, and eventually, the grass stopped releasing water about three meters from the centre tree.

For days, she'd kept to the edges of the clearings, fearing traps at every turn, not knowing that she was avoiding water. The animals that rested in the branches above her had never so much as glanced at her when she passed, and she hazarded that they mustn't be Capitol Mutts, bred to kill her and her fellow tributes. Somehow, that didn't do much to soothe her conscious.

Packing up her camp, she headed out South. She had come back down from the North in her escape from Adira yesterday, so she figured she should just circle back to the Cornucopia. Besides, she wanted to scout it out to see if anything had changed in the days since the Bloodbath. It was the fourth day, as far as she knew. Even so, the Cornucopia would be a good starting point in her search for Ash.

Farrow had to move carefully. Even with the medicine she had received, her wound would protest painfully with each step. The bleeding had stopped but she didn't want to risk opening it back up again, so she walked with slow, deliberate paces and took breaks as often as she needed. She also stopped at any tree or clearing she found along the way, testing to see if it held an underground water source like before. So far, it was only the clearing with trees that held water, but the amount depended on how big the tree was. As she walked, the heat was a problem as well. She figured out her to turn her pants into shorts but kept her jacket on to ward away most of the sun from her arms and neck. As injured and tired as she was, sunburn would be the icing on an awful cake.

She was cursing herself for moving so far from the Cornucopia, for running away without Ash in the first place. It had occurred to her that by this point he may not even want her as an ally any more. With the time that had passed, and the number of tributes down, the advantages of having an ally would slowly be overtaken with the list of disadvantages to having one. Together, they would have a better chance against the Career tributes. Farrow herself had been able to take one out by herself (she shuddered inwardly at how easily she could think about it, how she really had _'taken one out'_ ), and with a partner, other tributes or animals would be less likely to attack. Similarly, just having someone to watch your back, or even to spend time with in the arena was a huge bonus. It had been just four days and Farrow was just about ready to start talking to the thousands of blades of grass that surrounded her if she couldn't find another human. 

But, as she said, having an ally in the Hunger Games was a double-edged sword. Farrow liked Ash. She could usually read people pretty well, and Ash seemed like a genuinely nice guy. But in the arena, everything changes. The cutest little kid can turn bloodthirsty, the strongest Career can lose their minds and turn into a snotty grovelling child. Not only that but as the number of tributes dwindled, the chances of your ally turning on you increased. She would be surprised if anyone could truly trust someone in here, no matter how nice. 

But Farrow made herself forget all that. She needed to find Ash. Even if he didn't want to take her as an ally by now, she needed to get an answer. She didn't want to think about what would happen if she decided to give up her search, only to find out that he had died looking for her instead. No, she wouldn't think about the worst-case scenario. She needed to focus on finding the Cornucopia.

With her pace, it was nearing sundown by the time she first spotted the signs of the glittering horn. The grass grew steadily shorter as it approached the Cornucopia, and soon she was crouching down to avoid being spotted by anyone looking out over the fields. 

When she got close enough, she ditched the main paths and moved through the fields, slowly to not attract attention. Peeking through the gaps between the grass, she saw it in all its glory, for the first time since the bloodbath.

The layout of the base camp had been set up as normal. There were sleeping bags and bedrolls set up around the horn, with a huge stack of food, weapons and medicine piled near the opening. The four Career tributes were sitting around a large bonfire, making a dinner out of a few military food rations. The whole thing screamed arrogance. The fire, useless in the current heat, was setting off huge amounts of smoke because of the large piles of grass they were using to keep it going. The way they joked and bragged about their successes - their kills - and made up elaborate plans of what they were planning on doing to their next victim made her sick to her stomach.

The girl from District Two, Tera, who had always scared the shit out of Farrow, was the most subdued. Even from this far away, the sight of her quiet, almost contented smile sent shivers down her spine. She was the only one holding her weapons, a set knife that she was currently sharpening with a blunt rock. The rest had their's scattered about. They didn't need them when grouped together like that.

Farrow stayed perfectly still as the evening progressed and the sky turned dark. The Careers would usually hunt at night, leaving someone behind to guard the stash. But as Farrow watched all four of them pack up their things, placing rations into bags and accumulating a staggeringly absurd amount of weapons, she realised that they were all leaving. They were leaving the Cornucopia unguarded.

The pack had finished packing while she was sat pondering the situation, and set out for the night, hooping and hollering and goading each other about who was going to get the most kills. Their voices grew distant as they moved further away in the western direction, seemingly sticking to the paths.

It didn't make sense to her why they would all leave. By leaving their spoils unguarded, surely they would expect people to steal from them.

And, just as she suspected, it didn't take long for the first thief to show themselves. Creeping out of the grass opposite her side of the clearing, the girl from District Six slunk from her hiding spot and dashed towards the pile of supplies. First, she collected food. Not whole boxes of items, Farrow realised, after watching her take bits and pieces from several containers, but just enough to survive while not being noticed. After filling her pockets, she ran over to the waterhole and filled up her drink bottle. The whole process took about three minutes, and after it all, she was back into the grass.

Farrow sat there gawking for a few moments. It wasn't often that someone would so blatantly steal from the Careers. She didn't know whether to feel impressed or jealous. The girl must have to stay close to the camp to rely on it so heavily, though. The thought of having to sleep so close to those predators didn't exactly sound fun.

Just as she was about to turn and retreat, another movement caught her eye. It was two people this time, rushing forward to the horn. At first, Farrow thought it must be some of the Careers circling back for something they forgot, but even in the dark, she could see that these two were not Careers. One boy and one girl, though she couldn't quite make out who, collecting armfuls of food and medical supplies. The boy was strong and fast, but she noticed the girl had a slight limp.

They must have seen the other girl, too, then. A part of her wondered why they hadn't gone after her, but she knew that killing so close to the Careers would be completely stupid. Perhaps they had a system. A temporary truce to spare each other while gathering supplies, all the while under the pack's noses.

The girl hissed something at the boy, something about compression bandages, and she finally recognised her. It was the girl from Seven, her pin-straight black hair was pulled back into a bun at the top of her head, but those piercing black eyes were unmistakable. The boy beside her responded in the negative, and they both made their way over to the waterhole.

Farrow had to slap her hand over her mouth to prevent any unwanted noises as the familiar voice registered in her mind. She couldn't believe it. She _didn't_ believe it, until she saw his face, just for a split second, as he was running towards the water. It was Ash!

She'd found him, but what now? She couldn't really rush out now, exposed on all sides to potential onlookers, and this new ally. The girl from Seven did pose a problem in this situation. Now it wasn't just the issue of convincing Ash to join her, but his district partner. She had no memory of any interactions between herself and the girl. Hell, she didn't even know her name! But she couldn't just give up after finding him so miraculously.

During the time she had spent thinking, the two had filled their water bottles and were running back to where they had previously come from, just twenty metres left from her hiding place. Feeling a sudden burst of energy, she stood up, breaking out of the grass to reveal herself. 

The two of them immediately drew their weapons, and she threw her hands in the air as a sign of peace. "Hey, we're allies, aren't we?" She spoke, her voice steady even with the frantic beating of her heart. 

There was a beat of silence, in which Farrow could only feel the frantic thump of her own heartbeat.

"Farrow," Ash replied, relaxing his grip on the axe in his hands as his eyes flashed with recognition. His partner did not.

"I think we should continue this conversation somewhere else," Farrow said, slowly lowering her hands. She was talking to Ash, but when he looked to his ally for a response she switched to looking at her as well. The girl wasn't very physically intimidating, but she did not act like it. The spear in her hand was levelled right at Farrow's heart, her eyes like slits now that she was glaring at her.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't gut you right here and now." She said, jostling her spear to prove her point. Farrow gulped, glancing at Ash quickly. She realised how much of a bad idea this was, but she couldn't go back on it now. Her mind raced as she thought of something to say.

"Compression bandages." Was what she finally managed. The girl cocked a brow. "I've got a good first aid kit from sponsors, and I know how to get more water away from the Cornucopia."

The silence seemed to stretch on forever. Farrow and the girl were locked in the staring match of the century. She had something that the other needed, Farrow could tell that the limp in her leg was causing her problems and the prospect of water away from the public waterhole was something that the both of them had lit up at upon hearing. The girl set her lips into a thin line, but before she could say anything Ash stepped forward.

"Good to have you back on the team, buddy." He said simply. And that was that, apparently. The girl didn't outwardly object, but she sent Farrow a glare as she slung her spear over her shoulder. "I was almost worried you'd abandoned me at the Bloodbath."

"Of course not," Farrow insisted, motioning back into the grass from which she had revealed herself. The two nodded, and they started making their way back into the fields away from the horn. "Just a little freakout, nothing to do with you."

"Sure seems convenient that you showed up now, though." The girl said. She hadn't let up her glare, and Farrow was starting to think that it was just how her face looked.

"Well, I've been looking for him ever since. I did get sidetracked along the way, of course." She said, returning the glare with a friendly smile. "And I don't believe we've met. How did you two end up together?"

The pair from Seven glanced at each other as if willing the other to speak. It was silent as they all trekked through the tall grass. Finally, Ash sighed.

"Rainey and I met up on the second day." He told her, and then he went on to explain the circumstances. Rainey had denied his request to ally with him during training, but when they stumbled upon each other in the arena, she was apparently more than happy to have him. They've been camping out near the Cornucopia since yesterday for food and water. "But you said there was another source?"

Farrow nodded, pointing at one of the odd trees in the distance. It pretty far away, maybe a few hours of walking and her side was starting to ache from just their moderate pace. "It's under the ground, the grass bends if you press on it, and it shows this underground pool. They only show up under those weird trees, though." The pair went silent as they listened to her words, craning their next to inspect the tree over the grass. "We'll stop there and rest for the night."

The rest of the walk was silent. Farrow took the lead but felt the burn of two pairs of eyes trained on her as she went. Rainey was a mystery to her. She tried to recall anything about her from before the games. Her reaping was standard, she was just as shocked and scared as most of them. She had been dressed up as a tree along with Ash during the tribute parade, as was customary for Seven for the last decade. Her training was nothing special, and she'd received a five in her individual assessment. During the interview she'd acted almost bored, playing with her nails while Ceasar had tried to coax more than a sentence response from her. 

If there was one thing that she had noticed it was that she had this odd feeling that the girl believed that she was one step ahead of everyone at all times. She'd said so in her interview at least. That she had a plan.

Farrow decided she wouldn't let her guard down around her just yet.

The grass opened up to reveal the clearing with a tree. Farrow internally sighed with relief and tried to make it look like she wasn't that excited to get to rest after such a short walk. Then, she noticed that her two allies were staring expectantly at her. She realised that they wanted her to show them, to show them that it wasn't a trap or a trick. Huffing, she moved over to the tree and pushed down on the ground, watching the grass bend and her hand be submerged with cool water.

"Hell yeah," Ash said, almost laughing as he downed his water from the Cornucopia and hurried to refill his bottle. Rainey, too, abandoned her guarded tough girl act for a bit as she basked in the joys of the new water source. The tense atmosphere had relaxed somewhat at that, and the three of them emptied their bags to make their own pile of supplies.

Her own food, just a handful of old berries and a few sticks of dried beef were nothing compared to the bounty that the two of them had collected over the two nights of raiding the Career's base. They had military rations, fresh applies, loaves of bread and even a few blocks of cheese. Despite that, they seemed very impressed at the nice stack of medical supplies she had received from the Capitol.

"Stuff like this must have cost a fortune," Ash stated as he inspected the tube of medicine. Farrow threw Rainey a roll of compression bandages, which the girl looked surprised about. "What exciting things have you been up to to get this?"

Farrow's easy smile twitched. She knew Ash was trying to keep the mood light like he always does, but the thought of murder as 'exciting' still didn't sit well with her. "Well, I guess they were happy with me after I took out the two from Four."

Silence.

When she looked up from sorting through her first aid kit, both of her allies were staring at her. Ash, with shock. Rainey, with apprehension. Farrow sighed but explained the gist of the encounter to them. She told them about little Seaton from Four, and how he'd begged her to kill him after the injury he'd sustained from Adira. Then, how she'd managed to kill the Career when she'd shown up to finish him off. The atmosphere was morose when she finished her story, both of them digesting her words.

"That sick bitch." Rainey said finally. Nobody particularly liked watching the twelve-year-olds get slaughtered, but when it was a district partner...

"Yeah, well, she didn't go down without a fight," Farrow said, lifting her shirt to show off her bandaged side. Ash winced. "She got me with that mace of hers. I would have bled out if not for the medicine."

Ash passed it back to her, and she thanked him as she went about redressing the wound. As she did so, Rainey rolled up her pants to above her shin and rushed to start wrapping the compression bandage around two little puncture marks. A snake bite. Farrow hadn't seen any snakes in the arena but was well versed in them thanks to her lessons in school back home. With the menagerie of snakes that resided in the hot and dry climate of Nine, every child was taught how to identify different snakes and their individual venoms. From the quick glance she caught of the bite on Rainey's calf, she knew that the tissue was necrotic. Nothing a compression bandage could do. Nothing much they could do in here without access to an antivenom.

Rainey looked up and caught her staring. Farrow sent her a significant look, but after a sharp jerk of the head towards Ash, who was sorting their pile of food into three piles at the time, she let it go.

For dinner, they ate the perishable food first. They each had a few slices of bread with cheese, a few of Farrow's now mushy berries and half an apple.

"Half an apple?" Farrow asked after Ash told her the plan. She looked at her knife, which was filthy with blood, dust and grass clippings. Surely he didn't want to use that? Or was he going to cut them with his massive axe?

"Not this again." Rainey groaned as Ash jumped to his feet, excitement brimming in his eyes. Rainey gave her a playfully exasperated look but stopped short when she realised she was supposed to be cautious around Farrow. "He's got a 'special skill' he likes to show off at every chance he can."

Intrigued, Farrow watched as the boy held the apple with two hands. They were so large that even the Capitol's ridiculously large apple looked small in his grasp. With a grunt, he flexed, and after a second or two, the apple split perfectly in two. "Ta-da!"

Farrow blinked. "Can't everyone do that?"

The resulting peel of laughter from Rainey and mock-offended look from Ash made her chuckle. Then, of course, the boy demanded she showed him how 'easy' it really was. But when she instantly cracked the fruit in half just as easily, he seemed genuinely distraught.

"I thought I was special!" He groaned as Farrow and Rainey laughed at his expense. They continued teasing him over dinner, insisting that he have the spare half since he 'needed it so much for his big strong muscles', as Rainey put it. Ash, of course, wasn't truly upset. Still, he grumbled to himself as they started on grass mats for bed. They decided on the order of shifts to keep watch, with Rainey first, then Farrow. Ash would take first watch tomorrow. They set out their mats outside of the grass since there would always be one of them awake. With an alliance of three, only the Careers or Muttations would pose a threat to them. And since the Careers had head out in the opposite direction, and most Mutts would be able to find them even in the grass, they decided not to bother.

The anthem blared as the clock struck midnight, the face of the girl from District Five illuminating the night sky. She had been the one to die that morning. None of them said anything, but Ash sighed and turned his back to the two of them. It took a while, but eventually, his breathing evened out and she knew he was asleep. She was struck with how glad she was to finally have him with her. Their friendship during training had been comforting, and even now she noticed the boy massaging his hand on that pressure point she had taught him. Having him now, she felt just a little better about her odds.

She had agreed to an alliance with Ash for protection against the Careers, but she knew it was more than that. She had seen the relief in his eyes when she'd agreed, she'd seen it when he first spotted her earlier that evening. Ash couldn't do this alone. He'd latched onto Rainey, too. Despite his size and his age, he really was just a big softy. Not someone who deserved to be in here. Well, no one deserved to be in here.

Rainey twirled her spear in her hands, startling her out of her train of thought. The other girl was looking at her when she glanced over. More specifically, at the silver band on her finger. "Can't sleep?"

Farrow shifted to her side so that she was facing the girl. She knew it was no coincidence that Rainey had placed Farrow in the middle. She didn't trust her, and she honestly couldn't fault her for that. The girl, compared to Ash, was a whole other story. She wasn't about to leave the alliance because of her presence, but she was understandably upset about having a new ally that she didn't have a choice about. Rainey wasn't the most personable girl around, and the random glares she shot her told Farrow that Rainey was about as happy to have her than she was.

She motioned at the other girl's leg, where her pant leg covered the snake bite. "Why won't you tell him?"

The question settled over them like a blanket. It was simple, but she knew that the girl was guarded, that she wouldn't give away bits of information like that so freely. Farrow huffed, propping herself up by her elbow. "You're gonna die and not even tell him. I just don't understand."

Rainey didn't seem to like this question any better. She settled her chin to rest on the top of her knees, her hand brushing against the spot that hid the wound every so often. "Dead Weights. I got bitten just before Ash found me. Told him it was a corn snake."

Farrow expected as much, but couldn't find the words to console the girl. How could she, really? Dead Weights were nasty little Mutts that were bred for the Games in special labs, like the famous Tracker Jackers. All it took was one bite, and the victim would slowly lose movement in the affected limb over the course of days until it eventually went rigid like stone, the lack of movement causing the tissue to die. If the victim was unfortunate to survive long enough, the venom would spread into the rest of the body. First the fingers and toes, then the limbs, and then the brain. The heart would stop beating, and the victim would become a literal dead weight. The only way to stop the spread was an antivenom, but it was so expensive that only the most well-liked tributes would be saved from a slow and painful death. If Rainey was bitten two days ago...

"So what's this plan I've heard so much about?" Farrow said after the heavy silence. She could feel the relief radiating off of the other girl in waves. She wasn't going to leave, or tell Ash, or take pity on her. If Rainey had a plan, they only had a few days to execute it.

"Wait until morning." The girl said, and after an annoyed look from Farrow, added: "I don't want to explain it twice. Now, get some sleep, I have to wake you up in a few hours."

Reluctantly, Farrow conceded, turning over to rest on her back, staring out into the night sky until she managed to fall into a light sleep.

Rainey never woke her up for her turn, only nudging her awake when the sun was starting to peek over the horizon. If Ash noticed, he didn't say anything. Farrow didn't either. After all, they had a plan to talk about.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rainey has a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finished most of my exams!! Only a few more weeks and I'll be moving to go to Uni :0  
> I dunno how I feel about that lmao. I don't really think of myself as an adult yet, so moving to a whole ass city is gonna be weird .-.  
> Anyway enjoy the chapter! I got a few good ones lined up to come out semi-regularly :)

The sweltering heat had only worsened overnight, so the three of them took turns dunking their hair and shirts in the shallow pool of water to try and cool off. The split another couple slices of bread and finished off the rest of the cheese for breakfast before Rainey began to tell them about her infamous famous 'plan'.

"I want you to think about previous Hunger Games for a minute," she said, planting her spear in the wet grass below her feet. She was playing up the drama, it seemed. It was strange, being so out in the open yet knowing you were being watched constantly. And they all knew that the cameras would be on them. Farrow stole a quick glance at Ash, but he just shrugged vaguely. This was the first he was hearing about it too, then. "Whenever there's an outlier district win, what usually happens to the Careers? What happens to their stash of supplies?"

Farrow thought about the last outlier district win. If her memory served, it had been Otto Deiss, Victor of the 59th Hunger Games. She had been eleven at the time, but she still remembered the terrifying bear Mutts that had ravaged the arena, targeting not the tributes, but the food. Otto had been one of the only tributes to realise that, and had thrown his backpack as far away as possible and ran, effectively making him useless in the eyes of the bears. Meanwhile, the Career pack fought to protect their stash of food, and while half of them fell victim to terrifying claws and vicious teeth, the others were left with no food or supplies, and slowly became incapacitated with hunger and thirst.

"They lose their supplies," Ash said, having come to the same conclusion as her. "But it's usually because of a Gamemaker event. How are we supposed to get rid of all that food?"

Rainey fixed them both with a look. "You're on the right track. But, all _we_ have to do now is wait. If the Capitol wants to help, they can."

The girl gave no further explanation of her plan, but they both understood. She needed some sort of sponsor gift to carry out her plan, but on the fifth day, it would take a lot of money to send them even a single loaf of bread, let alone whatever Rainey believed was capable of destroying the food pyramid. Whatever it was, Farrow hoped it was worth it, and that if it was, perhaps Miller could help fund it. She didn't exactly know how alliances and sponsorships worked, but it would make sense if one ally's money could be used to help the alliance as a whole. 

Well, like Rainey said. It was in the hands of the Capitol now.

The group didn't bother moving from their position at the tree. They had plenty of food and water, and Farrow was decently sure that there had been enough excitement over the past few days to satisfy the audience.

Farrow stripped her shirt off again to dunk it in the water, as it had long since dried out under the heat of the sun. She felt a pair of eyes on her back and turned to see Ash all but gawking at her collection of scars that lined her back. She raised a brow, watching his face glow red as he realised he'd been caught.

"Sorry, I was just..." He trailed off, gesturing half-heartedly with his hands. She let out a little laugh but waved him off as she pulled her shirt back over her head. "What'd you do to get those?"

"Don't worry, it's fine." She assured them, settling herself back to rest against the base of the tree. She remembered each time she was shackled to the post, even if some of them were a little hazy. She was sure that it was safe to talk, as, by this point, the view of the cameras had surely moved from them. The Capitol never showed its cruelty to its citizens, only the dramatized killing of twenty-three children was safe enough for their screens, not the regular brutality of its law enforcement. "First time was when I was eight. I got fifty lashings after I hit a Peacekeeper for knocking over an old woman."

Ash stared at her as if she had grown two heads, and she had to laugh. She had been a lot more hot-headed when she was younger. Nothing a good beating couldn't straighten out, though. There had been others, of course. Twenty for picking up someone else's tesserae while they were sick because she _could have_ stolen it. Then another thirty when the owner of the plantation found a single stem of wheat in her pocket, and that was enough to be considered stealing, even though it was obviously an accident. Such things were just a part of life when it came to living in Nine, but she found herself curious about the others.

"So the Peacekeepers in Seven aren't as strict?" She asked, taking a few sips of water.

"No, they don't bother us as long as we don't bother them," Rainey explained from where she was sitting. She hadn't been active in the conversation, but had been listening intently as she sharpened the end of her spear with a rock.

"But you get put on the shittier jobs if you cause problems," Ash said, picking absently at the grass below him as he talked. "If you messed up, you usually got put on splitting duty."

Rainey winced at that, and Farrow smiled. It was interesting learning about their lives. The districts had such little communication with each other, pretty much the only time they interacted was during the Games, and they only learned to base knowledge of each District through school. The trade, the population, things like that. Not how they lived or what their problems were. She was sure that their conversation was being blocked, not just for the Capitol, but to keep the Districts further divided.

"I've always wanted to go out to a nice forest." She said, somewhat wistfully. "All we have in Nine is fields and concrete. And the sun. Ugh."

The other two nodded but didn't say anything further. It was a foolish dream, after all. She found herself internally berating herself for even saying it. The only way she'd see Seven, or even a forest, would be if she survived and came out as Victor. Neither of them would say it, but they'd both have to die. Soon, at least two of them would be dead. That was how the games worked. You make alliances, become close, and either split up or kill each other. Twenty-four go in, one comes out.

Her morbid thoughts were interrupted by a high pitched trilling noise. A parachute.

They all jumped to their feet to catch the package that had been sent. It was massive, way bigger than the one Farrow had received previously, and when Rainey caught it and struggled to drop it to the ground, she knew it was heavy, too. Farrow and Ash waited with bated breath as Rainey undid the top of the metal canister, twisting the lid to reveal four large brown bottles filled with a sharp smelling clear liquid that reminded her of the illegal moonshine that was sold in the back alleys of her district, all with large fabric wicks sticking out the tops.

"Molotovs." Farrow realised, and Rainey grinned.

"We leave tomorrow."

The plan was pretty simple, in the grand scheme of things. While the Careers were out hunting, the three of them would cram as much dry grass as they could into the food pile, and then set the whole thing ablaze with the bottles of alcohol. 

"And what about that other girl that was stealing from them?" Farrow asked as they navigated their way towards the Career camp. Rainey had wanted to take night watch again last night, but they managed to convince her to get some rest by telling her that she needed all the sleep he could get to pull the plan off. The narrow-eyed girl was reapplying her bandages while she and Ash broke down the camp, but her gaze looked far away and her hands weren't all that focused. "The girl from Six?"

"The others are around as well," Ash told her, his hair freshly wet from the underground pool. "Everyone's had to stick close together because we thought the waterhole was the only water source. I've seen Hattie - the girl from Ten, and the guy from Twelve sticking around."

Farrow wasn't sure how to process that information. The entire pack of tributes minus one, Farrow, had likely been in the same small area for the majority of the games, scavenging scraps from under the Careers' noses the whole time. "So will they try and retaliate if we blow up their food supply?"

Rainey piped up this time. She was sticking to the back, and it wasn't hard to see why. Her leg was giving her trouble, and she had to all but drag it behind her as she walked. Farrow had kept up the façade that she was fine, but Ash was no fool. By now, the Dead Weight venom had moved into other areas of her body, and her fingers were starting to stiffen like an old woman's.

"I don't think they'd risk attacking the three of us." She explained, her words interspersed with shallow breaths. Farrow held her hand out to take the heavy pack of bottles from her, but that girl clung to them almost religiously. "We'll wait for the rest of them to get their stuff, then we'll act. That way, most of them will be distracted with their haul."

Ash and Farrow nodded, but she could tell the guy was uncomfortable about something. Whether it was the plan or Rainey's apparent decline in health or even just the situation of being in the Hunger Games, Farrow couldn't tell.

They made it to the Cornucopia by mid-afternoon but hung back to the outer rings of tall grass in order to not be seen. Rainey immediately set to work cutting down blades of grass and placing them into piles for the three of them. Farrow took watch, scanning the area for any signs of other tributes, but it seemed that Ash's predictions of the others being closer to the water on the other side was true.

They waited in silence for the sun to set, and then watched as the Careers marched off down a path to the West. There hadn't been any deaths for at least two days now, and the four of them looked anxious to find someone. It was almost funny, knowing that they were so close yet so far from their prey.

Then, it was another game of waiting. The girl from Six appeared, then the boy from Twelve, then Hattie from Ten. They all came and went in the span of a few minutes, collecting supplies for, hopefully, the last time. Farrow noticed Ash watching the three of them with something like regret in his gaze, but found that she didn't mind destroying the only source of food for these people. If it would weaken the Careers and greater her chances of getting out of this place alive, she didn't care. It was the name of the game, after all.

They waited just a bit longer after Hattie disappeared into her hiding place to enact their plan. Farrow took one of the piles of kindling and allowed Rainey to lead the way, rushing forward towards the massive pile of supplies. They yanked out as much food and supplies as their packs could carry, and then Rainey directed them on which places to stuff the grass, and piled most of her's around the base of the pile before popping the lid of the container holding the four Molotov bottles and handing the two of them one each.

Farrow's heart was pounding in her chest again, being so out in the open after days of lurking in the semi-protection of the fields. It almost felt like stage fright, stood out in the clearing with not only the three sets of eyes of the other tributes on them but the entirety of Panem as well.

It was Ash who first noticed the newcomer, readying his axe and alerting the two of them to the figure who stood behind them, about ten feet away. It was Hattie, Farrow realised. She had almost nothing on her person, just a tiny cross-body bag and a tiny knife that must have come from a throwing set.

"What are you doing?" She demanded, that knife held defensively in her hands. "That's _my_ food."

"Tough luck," Rainey replied, a bottle in one hand, her spear in the other. "We have to destroy it. To give any of us a chance of winning."

Hattie was silent for a moment as she digested the information. And then she laughed. She grabbed her stomach and gasped out a terrible laugh that was so loud the three of them all tensed, worried about the Careers hearing the commotion.

"Quit it," Ash said, his grip tight on his axe, now. "You're gonna bring them right back to kill us all."

The girl wiped a stray tear from her eye, still chuckling but looking at the group with an angry look in her eye. "You don't get it, do you? There is no hope. They've already killed us."

"Just go back to your camp and we'll leave you be," Farrow said in a warning tone. Hattie snapped her neck to look directly at her, her grin now a grimace on her face. Farrow realised that this girl was past the point of reason. She proved her theory right when she clenched her fist around the hilt of her knife and jabbed it in Farrow's direction.

"YOU DON'T GET IT!" She screeched, inching forward with her weapon outstretched. Farrow readied her own knife, but the girl stopped before she was in range to attack, just screaming in her face. "WE ARE ALL DEAD! NOBODY GETS OUT OF THIS SHITHOLE ALIVE, AND YOU ARE A FUCKING IDIOT IF YOU THINK-"

The spear that came out of her chest halted her words, halting much of anything, really. She slumped to the ground at Farrow's feet and the cannon boomed overhead. 

"What a psycho," Rainey said, her tone not conveying the troubled look in her eye as she yanked the spear out of the girl's back. "Let's get this over with, the Careers will be back soon."

With that, she moved over to the large bonfire still smouldering at the base of the camp and lit the end of one of the bottles. Farrow looked back at Ash and found him staring at the dead girl at their feet, motionless.

"Ash," she said, urging the boy with a hand on his shoulder. "Let's get it going."

He nodded, but passed the bottle in his hands to Rainey, and started off in the direction of where they had sat and watched previously. Farrow set her lips into a thin line but turned when she heard the tell-tale sign of glass smashing on metal. The fire was huge, the dry grass catching quickly to add fuel to the flames and as she launched her own bottle onto the pile the columns of red and orange only grew.

Suddenly, an arrow found purchase in the ground beside her foot, and it took her a moment for the signs to click before she dove out of the way of another arrow that Gemma from One had sent her way. Farrow looked around wildly and saw Rainey by her side, Ash not too far away but running back to them, and Gemma and Brick from the Career pack rushing in their direction.

Gemma nocked another arrow as Brick surged forward, his sword flashing dangerously in the firelight.

Farrow braced to dodge Brick's blow at the last second but found it for nought as Ash took the hulking boy down with a powerful shoulder charge before he could even reach her. The two boys grappled and wrestled for purchase on each other, but Brick's sword had flown out of his grasp when Ash took him down, so it wasn't long before her ally found the upper hand, and in the rush of the moment, brought his axe down into his chest.

The silence following the sickening crunch and cannon fire was broken by Gemma's outraged cry, the girl firing her arrow with a strangled scream. Farrow rolled to get out of the way but realised too late that she wasn't the target. 

There was a dull thud as the arrow found its mark in Rainey's shoulder.

Ash cried out, but the girl in question did not fall. With her stiff limbs, she wrenched the last bottle of alcohol out of her pack and sent Farrow a significant look.

"Go."

Farrow searched her ally's eyes, searching for something, anything that could tell her to stay, but she found no hesitation. This was Rainey's last stand. Farrow didn't need to be told twice, and she rushed to pull Ash to his feet and drag him away as the Career descended on Rainey. Ash twisted and wrestled against her, screaming at her to let him go back and help her. He was crying, she realised, sobbing for her to let him go.

Her heart ached, but she knew Rainey wouldn't have made it much longer anyway.

She watched as Gemma reached the Cornucopia, but turned as Rainey used the last of her strength to pitch the glass bottle to the ground between them, and an impossible wall of flame engulfed the two of them, blocking them from view.

The screams all melded together. Whether they were Rainey's or Gemma's or even Ash's, she forced herself to push forward and dragged her ally into the grass, just in time for the other two Careers, Dior and Tera, to crash through the field on the other side of the clearing and witness the carnage that used to be their base. For a moment, Farrow was struck with the fear that they would spot the two of them, but it seemed that they were the last things on the minds of the Careers.

The dry grass acting as a carpet of kindling, the fire started to creep out of the constraints of the Cornucopia in every direction. She watched Dior and Tera turn tail and run in the opposite direction, and rounded on Ash, who was staring into the fire blankly, fat tears still rolling down his cheeks.

"Ash, we need to go." She said desperately. Ash blinked, his eyes focusing on his surrounding before landing on her. His grasp on his hands went slack, and he shoved her away from him as if her touch had burned him,

"Don't touch me!" He said, his voice hoarse from his screaming and crying previously. "You let her die! You didn't even try to save her!"

"Ash, I-" she tried to plead, but he shook his head at her dismissively. Then, she realised that he wasn't shaking his head at all, his whole body was shaking. Shaking and swaying, before he eventually collapsed to the ground in a limp pile. Farrow gasped, rushing forward and surveying Ash for any sign of injury.

It seemed that his scrape with Brick hadn't left him as unharmed as she had first thought, and she soon found a frighteningly large bulge on the back of his head, as well as a fairly large gash on his ribs from some sort of blade. She felt stupid. Of course, a Career would have more than one weapon.

The fire was closing in, moving unnaturally fast towards the two of them as she panicked.

She pulled at the cuff of her cargo shorts and fumbled to tear away a strip as smoke entered her lungs. Finally the last thread gave way and she rushed to press the fabric against the wound on his ribs. She knew she had to move, the fire was already close enough for her to feel its heat on her back. Soon enough, it would be upon them, and she couldn't lose anyone else.

So, with a groan, she pulled Ash to his feet and rested his full weight on her, starting to drag him away from the Cornucopia, away from the direction she had seen Dior and Tera run. She could barely move, let alone escape the wall of flame rising behind them, but she focused on putting one foot before another, just one step at a time, and when she fell, she forced herself to get back up. Her lungs were screaming at her, her legs wobbling in protest with every step, but before she completely collapse, the heat subsided and she fell to the ground with a groan. Every inch of her body ached, but at least she had just enough energy leftover to cough up what felt like a cupful of what looked like black tar.

As she lay prone on the ground, she let herself melt into a pile of exhaustion and pain.

A drop of water hit her forehead, and for a moment she wondered if she had stumbled upon another tree reservoir, but then came another on her hand, and two on her leg, and when she peeled her eyes open she saw the storm clouds and realised the Gamemakers must have manufactured some rain to put out the flames.

She'd lead them far enough so that the Cornucopia was a speck in the distance, the haze of the rainfall muddying the reds and oranges of the dying fire surrounding it. She hauled herself up and moved Ash so that he was lying on his back. She spent a few minutes wrangling her trembling hands into crafting a bed of grass, then pulled him to rest on top of it. The wound was deeper upon closer inspection, so she cleaned it up and applied a healthy dose of Capitol medical balm before bandaging it properly. 

By the time she finished, the rain was starting to subside and the clouds parted to reveal the Capitol seal, bright and jarring up in the sky. The anthem was blaring along with it, but Farrow found that her senses were numb as she watched the faces flash before her.

First was Gemma, the girl who'd ultimately been the one to doom Rainey. Even still, Farrow found herself unable to harbour any ill will towards the girl. She couldn't explain it, but whatever energy she had left was just not going into hating this one girl whose only crime was believing in a corrupt system. Then came Brick, and she was glad Ash was not awake for this one. His stoic grimace burned into her eyes and only disappeared when Rainey came to replace it.

Farrow's heart clenched. Ash's words had stung, but she knew them to be true. _She_ had been the one to consign Rainey to death. She could've at least tried to get Rainey to reconsider, but no. She'd gone along with it and now that was a burden she'd have to live with.

Rainey's image disappeared and Hattie from Ten flickered to life, her peaceful smile no longer contorted into that crazed grin. Farrow had found it odd, how the girl had spoken of them all being dead, she'd found her phrasing odd, she'd found the whole monologue odd. But now, she understood.

From the moment their names had been drawn, it was a death sentence. A literal death sentence for twenty-three of them, but somewhat figuratively for the Victor. Farrow thought about her mentors for a moment. How hopeless Garner had been, the way his hand drifted to drink more often than anything, and how not once in her stay in the Capitol had she seen him sleep. Then, she thought of Miller. She was a kind woman, donating her winnings and consoling her through the worst of her experiences in the Capitol, but there were rumours. 

Farrow had never watched Miller's games. They had aired long before she was born, and were considered too grisly for the school to air when teaching about the games. She had heard about them through word of mouth, though. Terrifying mutts of undead tributes, scenes of people being torn limb from limb by their own dead allies, and Miller, the last one standing, surrounded by a pile of her fellow tributes.

There were rumours. Some said that she never turned a light off in her home, that she slept with one eye open, that if you listened hard enough, you could hear her screams in the dead of night, waking from another nightmare.

Farrow settled in for the night, keeping watch over Ash's unconscious figure as the anthem swelled and concluded, leaving only the silence to keep her company. She twirled the silver ring on her finger, bringing it up to her lips absently.

She found it easy to believe, that the Victors were as good as dead.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the plan. The invitation to the feast.

Farrow sat motionless for hours, simply watching over Ash for any sign of movement. The night had long since retreated to the light of the sun, and she was sure that the knock to the head was responsible for the sudden unconsciousness. 

She wanted to move as soon as possible, to get to the water and take stock of their supplies, but she couldn't move Ash another inch without running the risk of doing more damage to his already existing wounds. So, for now, all she could do was wait.

It took another hour or so for Ash to stir.

Instantly, she was by his side, helping him up into a seated position and handing him a flask of water. He drank it down greedily but stopped halfway through when he surveyed the area. The events of the previous night seemed to hit him all at once, and he curled up into himself with a blank look.

"How was I out for?" He asked, finally. 

"Just the night, and most of the morning." She assured him, too nervous to get any closer. She was hyper-aware of the last time they spoke, and how furious he had been with her. He shot her a look, one filled with some unexplainable emotion. She understood. "Gemma, Brick and Rainey are dead. Just the six of us left."

Ash nodded, sitting back up and wincing. His hands found the bandage on his ribs, then traced the back of his head to the bandage that rested there. He looked back up at her, and she sighed.

"I understand if you want to part ways." She said, avoiding his gaze as she stared determined at the ground. "I knew how much Rainey meant to you, but I didn't even try to help her..."

Farrow couldn't get much more out. She trailed off and clenched her fist. While he'd been out, she'd had an entire night to live with her actions, and the guilt that consumed her was raw. Ash looked at her, his eyes slightly glassy.

"I was stupid and angry, and I took it out on you," Ash said, his expression blank. "I knew that Rainey was dying. She did a really shitty job of hiding it, but... I was just so frustrated that she told you and not me..."

Farrow stayed silent. She didn't have an explanation, a reason for why she had left their ally to die. It seemed that they both understood, either way.

"We need to keep moving." She finally said. Farrow desperately wanted to stay here and mourn a while longer, but they had to move eventually. The fields behind them, towards the Cornucopia, were scorched black and barren. They were sitting ducks where they were, and she forced them both to stand up and move on to the closest tree.

As they filled up their canteens and sorted through their supplies, Farrow couldn't help but notice the significance. Even with the number of tributes so low, he was still allying himself with her. Alliances tended to fall apart by this point in the Games, with tensions peaking and throats being slit in the dead of night, but something told her that Ash wouldn't do that. Even if they were originally using each other as numbers against the Careers, they'd grown closer through their trials.

"I wonder how my mum's dealing with the interview," Ash said, shifting her focus away from the pile of military rations she was sorting through. "I don't think she's spoken in front of a group of ten people, let alone the whole country."

Then it hit her. They usually conducted interviews with the friends and family of the tributes when they reached the top eight, and they had a top six. She struggled to come up with an image of her family being dolled up and gushing about her in front of a camera, but even more so with Amaran. They'd need to have a chat with the love interest of one of the top tributes, especially when so integral to her story. She imagined Amaran in her best dress, smiling for the camera and talking about her proud she is of her, and cracked a smile.

"Well, I hope they enjoy their moment in the spotlight," Farrow said, finally dividing the rations in two and handing one pile over to Ash. "My two little brothers are probably enjoying themselves a bit too much."

"Oh, yeah, my big sister is probably dying to be on camera," Ash explained, a faint smile on his face. She was glad that the mood had shifted away from the negative, and allowed for Ash to ramble about his big sister's antics as she dunked her head in the pool of water and scrubbed the soot out of her hair.

They two spent the rest of the afternoon trading stories of their families. Farrow learned of all the times Ash had to go fetch the family tree from various precarious positions atop massive trees, and all the times he'd had to go up and rescue both he cat and his sister after she'd gone up without him.

Farrow realised that all of the stories he told were above board for the Capitol to air. She didn't know if it was on purpose, but she continued the trend and told him about the time she had to rescue her brother Rai from a stray dog that he thought was a lot more friendly than it actually was, as well as the countless tales of both ai and Quin bringing home some random street dog and demanding to let them keep it. She'd had to convince them that it was someone else's dog each time, but that didn't stop them from bringing home dogs with actual collars on them as well.

Soon enough the sky started to darken, and a pillar of smoke drifted up from some point to the west, miles away from them.

"Careers," Ash said, rolling his eyes.

"They're hoping to lure more people to them, then." Farrow wondered aloud, and Ash nodded.

The two of them agreed that it was far enough away that they didn't need to move but still went behind the wall of grass to make their camp for the night. Ash was getting better at making the beds out of the cut grass, but still, he was finished much later than her.

He settled down for the night, and the two of them didn't speak for a while. The exhaustion was palpable. They had spent an entire week in the arena, and they were starting to show it. Ash's frame was a lot leaner than before, his cheeks hollowed out slightly, and _he_ was the one who had been eating well. She couldn't even imagine what she looked like. The two of them split one of the military rations, digging into their pork and green beans with a ravenous hunger. The rations were only added to the Games when the arena was particularly barren, and the audience didn't feel like watching twenty four emaciated kids cleaning the meat off of rat bones until there was only one left. 

Farrow finished off her water, so she went back to the tree to fill it back up. As she did, Ash spoke.

"I'm sorry about your district partner." He said, and Farrow froze. The bottle was still filling with water, but she couldn't find the strength to manoeuvre it around to completely fill it up. "I understand why you had to split after that. It was a shitty thing to have to watch."

She turned around and found Ash not looking at her at all. Instead, he was peering up at the stars, completely visible in the sea of inky black.

"Thank you." She said, not trusting herself to say anything else as a thick lump made its home in her throat. She gulped down a few mouthfuls of water and cleared her throat. "He'd given up before we even got in the arena. I shouldn't have been surprised, but..."

She trailed off, but Ash understood. The two of them sat in silence for a while, mourning their lost companions. When Farrow spoke, the lump was gone.

"I want to get a bit more distance between us and the Cornucopia tomorrow." She said, pulling her pack into her lap for something to lean against. She was sure Dionysus would be horrified by her posture, which only made her smile. "I'll take watch. You still need time to rest that bump on your head."

"No way, you took watch yesterday," Ash said, crossing his arms. Farrow went to argue, but the look on his face was resolute. "I won't do any strenuous thinking if that helps."

Farrow grumbled but fell back onto her mat all the same. Ash wished her a good night, and she murmured the assent as she closed her eyes, flipping so she was facing away from him.

Her memories of Grist never left her, really, but the reminder of his untimely death sent another stab through her heart. She tried to keep it quiet, but a few sobs wracked her body as she fell into a restless sleep.

The two of them made good time the next day, fully losing sight of the Cornucopia by the time the sun was at its peak in the sky. The heat was almost unbearable by this point. The Gamemakers must have been adjusting the temperature to make them miserable. Ash had long since taken off his jacket and ripped the pant bottoms off of his pants to make them shorter, but listened to Farrow when she told him to at least drape it over his head for the protection from the sun.

They came upon another clearing, this time sans any water-bringing tree. Instead, it was another field full of berries and mysterious holes in the ground. There were more holes than was reasonable to count, but each was only the diameter of a tennis ball. Snake sized, Farrow realised, as she spotted a few dozen snakes scattered around the clearing, basking in the hot sun.

"I believe we should move away slowly," Farrow said, grabbing onto her ally's shoulder and stepped backwards.

Right onto a sleeping snake.

The reptile reared its head back with a start, and with a piercing hiss, brought its two razor-sharp fangs down on her ankle.

Ash cursed, and Farrow stumbled with a groan as a shot of white-hot venom entered her veins. She couldn't do much more than try to yank it off of her, but the snake must have been some sort of Capitol mutt, as it latched onto her leg and started shredding her flesh with its razor-like teeth. The pain was instant, and if it weren't for Ash's quick reflexes, she would have fallen straight to the ground.

With a grunt, Ash hauled her arm over his shoulder and booked it away from the clearing, where the rest of the snakes had woken from their slumber and were rushing towards them. Farrow was still wrestling with the snake on her leg, and after realising that she'd only be doing more damage with her brute force approach, she tried something else.

She grabbed her knife and slid it between the bloody mess that was her leg and the snake's mouth, and with one swift manoeuvre, dislodged the teeth from her flesh. It immediately went in for another bite, but Farrow came down in it with her knife through the head, killing it instantly.

The pair ran (well, Ash ran and Farrow limped beside him) until she physically couldn't anymore, and by then the sounds of hissing venom spraying had died down to silence. Ash lowered her carefully to the ground and started fishing around in their packs for the first aid kit. While he did that, Farrow slid the snake off of her knife and began to inspect it.

"What are you doing with that thing?" Ash asked, the disgust clear in his tone as he pulled out a roll of compression bandages and started to unravel them.

"I'm trying to find out if it's deadly," she replied, looking for any details or markings that would tell her what type of snake it was. The short tail and triangle head pointed towards it being a viper, but she couldn't exactly tell what type (and therefore, how venomous it was). The good news was that it was one hundred percent, not a Dead Weight. Finally, she gave her prognosis. "It'll hurt like a bitch, but I should be fine."

Ash slumped with relief, and she took the bandages from his hands to try to apply pressure as soon as possible. The skin around the bite was gnarled and torn, but from what she knew of first aid, you weren't supposed to wash the bite before you wrap it. Ultimately, she decided that certain infection was worse than potential venom spread, so she took a gauze pad soaked in iodine and cleaned the surrounding area as best she could, then wrapped it up.

As soon as she finished, she was overcome with a wave of exhaustion. Her leg was in constant pain, flashing between a dull throb and white-hot pain that caught her off guard, and her vision was starting to swim, her head slightly foggy.

"I need time to rest." She told Ash apologetically. "Just until tomorrow. If not, the venom might spread even more, and-"

"Hey, no problem." The boy said, settling down to sit next to her. Farrow sighed, slumping back into the ground below her. She knew that she'd need more than just an evening's rest, but time was money in the arena. If they all sat still or didn't kill for too long, the audience would get bored, and heaven knows what happens when the Gamemakers decide to make things more interesting.

She closed her eyes and tried to make herself comfortable. She cursed herself for using up all of her pain killers on that other wound. Compared to the snake bite, the gash from Adira's mace felt like a skinned knee. Slowly, though, she felt herself being sucked into the realm of slumber, her exhaustion finally outweighing the pain.

It only felt like a second, but it was dark when she opened her eyes. And a cannon had just fired.

Farrow shot up from her bed on the ground. In the back of her mind, it registered that Ash had made another bed for her, but the rest of her brain was more focused. Ash was up as well, just a few feet away on a matching bed of grass. It was silent for a moment, and then, maybe two minutes after the first, a second cannon fired overhead.

She blinked and turned to look at her ally. He had to same dawning look of grim realisation on his face, and the two of them hurried to pack up their things and survey the sky for any sign of the hovercraft. It took a few minutes, but eventually they spotted the massive ship descend out of the sky, floating right above the trail of smoke in the sky that they associated with the two Career tributes.

The body claw scooped down twice, but it was way too far away to make out who the fallen tributes were.

It seemed that that didn't matter, however. Almost as soon as the hovercraft disappeared overhead, the anthem blared and the faces of the girl from Six and the boy from Twelve illuminated the sky. This, of course, dashed the small hope Farrow had been clinging to that the two Careers had offed one another. No, now they were going to be actively hunting the two of them down.

The anthem slowly petered out, but the Capitol seal in the sky remained. Farrow was just about to say something when the sound of trumpets filled the air and the voice of Legendary Hunger Games Announcer Claudius Templesmith boomed throughout the arena. The two allies glanced at each other. This must be the invitation to the feast.

"Congratulations to our top four tributes! It's been such an amazing show, give yourselves a pat on the back." The disembodied voice said but Farrow's hand stayed firmly in place. "In celebration of your achievements, the President is holding a feast in your honour. At sunrise, the Cornucopia will be fully restocked with food to help you strengthen up for the final showdown."

Farrow and Ash shared a significant look. All that work destroying the Cornucopia, Rainey's sacrifice, all meaningless in an instant. Well, they had enough food to last another couple days, at least. They both narrowed their eyes and simultaneously agreed to not step another foot closer to the Cornucopia.

"And for those of you who are already thinking of declining the president's invitation, listen up!" That snaps them both back to attention, and the announcer continues. "We have noticed that there is something that everyone needs desperately. At the feast, two syringes full of pit viper antivenom will be awaiting you. As there are currently three tributes that have been bitten, we advise that you approach with haste. May the odds be ever in your favour!"

The trumpets blare, and then the arena is silent once more.

Ash stood from his place atop the bed of grass, and Farrow looked up at him with a confused look. "What are you doing?"

"Isn't it obvious?" He asked, starting to shove supplies back into his pack. When she gave no reply, he huffed. "We aren't gonna turn on each other any time soon and those two nutjobs aren't either, so it's obvious that they want the final showdown. They're using the feast as a way to get us all together so we can end this thing."

"But, I don't know if I can face those two with my leg..." She pointed helplessly down to her bandaged leg and noticed with a start that there was a dark purple bruise creeping out from the edges of the bandages. 

"Are you not listening?" Ash asked, still shoving random things into the pack without any rhyme or reason. "He said that three people have been bitten. That means Dior and Tera are on the same level as you. And I don't know about you, but I'd rather face them both at their weakest then let them both get the antivenom and hunt us down with you even weaker."

Farrow blinked, then nodded. Of course, the Gamemakers would do something like this. This whole thing was a game to them, and letting three people fight for two cures is just the sort of drama the audiences in the Capitol crave. 

"Okay. We'd better get going, then." She said, taking Ash's outstretched hand to pull herself to her feet. Ash grinned ironically.

"Let's finish this thing."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Victor of the 66th Anual Hunger Games.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a little while, huh?  
> I've basically been taking it easy since I graduated, but that just means I have more time to spend on this story before I trudge my way onto University.  
> Hope everyone's staying safe, enjoy the chapter!

The fire had increased the open area around the Cornucopia to almost double its size, even more in certain directions. Ash and Farrow settled themselves behind the wall of grass, facing the wide-open mouth of the horn, which remained the only pristine thing in a field of blackened weapons, burnt supplies and scorched food. The grass was black and dead, and in the dark of night, it gave the impression that the horn was floating in a pool of inky darkness.

They'd made it to the Cornucopia in relatively good time. Farrow's leg and the haze in her mind worried her, but she had to constantly reassure herself that her two opponents had the same handicap. Speaking of their opponents, they hadn't seen any sign of them when they arrived, so Farrow came to the conclusion that they were hiding somewhere in the grass or hadn't made it yet.

Ash nudged her, and he pulled out two full military rations. "Which would you prefer? Chicken carbonara, or beef stew and rice?"

She blinked. For the entire time they had been together, they had always eaten the rations sparingly. Now, it seemed, that was going out the window. Farrow smirked. "I'll have the beef, thanks."

He tossed her the bag, and she opened the pack to reveal the bounty of food inside. Not only did it contain a pack of beef stew, but also a serving of orange juice and a small packet of some Capitol chocolate she'd never seen before. "Not bad for a last meal."

Ash snickered, but he still looked a little green as he shovelled pasta into his mouth, occasionally stopping to press down hard on the back of his hand. Farrow took a little bit more time with her meal. The rations were designed to be eaten even without heat, but the cold rice and slimy beef were a bit hard to choke down. She chased her last mouthful down with the rest of her orange juice and offered half of her chocolate bar to her partner. His hadn't come with one, apparently. He thanked her, and they went back to surveying their surroundings.

Farrow was hit with a realisation that yes, this could very well be her last meal. She looked over at Ash and realised that in a matter of hours, one or both of them could be dead. One of them winning meant the other had to die. As much as they both skirted around the subject, that one rule would always but into their every interaction. There would be only one winner.

The sky to the east was just beginning to show the signs of sunrise, the inky black swirling with purple and pink, when the very ground beneath the Cornucopia shifted and the golden horn descended below the earth. Ash turned towards her.

"Looks like it's about to begin." He stated, standing up and slipping the bag off his shoulders. They didn't need the extra supplies slowing them down. "Here's how it's gonna go. The second that thing opens, I'm gonna sprint for the antivenom. You try and run, too, but I'm gonna be way faster. If I get it before them, I'll throw it your way, so get ready to catch. If I don't, well..."

Farrow stood up, biting down a wince as she put her weight down on the bad leg. "If you don't, may the odds be ever in your favour."

Ash pulled his lips back into a grim attempt at a smile, stepping back and pressing firmly on the back of his hand with a significant look. Farrow mirrored his actions, and they both stood in place, waiting for the feast to begin.

The trumpets blared, and the voice of Claudius Templesmith welcoming them drowned out the mechanical whirr as the Golden horn was lifted back into the field. Ash took off without a moment's hesitation, leaving her in the dust as she limped after him. From the corner of her eye, she saw Tera sprinting out of the grass on the other side of the field, a bandage wrapped around her arm, and Dior hobbling behind her.

She watched, helpless, as the two raced towards the lone table at the mouth of the horn, where two syringes lay on plush satin pillows. She focused all her energy into getting as close to the table as possible. So much so, that she nearly didn't notice the spear hurtling towards her. Nearly.

Farrow ducked to the ground at just the right time, hearing the spear sink into the ground behind her with a loud _THUNK_.

She had barely enough time to collect herself before Dior was upon her. He didn't have his spear, but the blade in his hand would have sunk into her chest if she hadn't blocked in time. Farrow strained against the boy as he continued to try to press the blade into her heart, and as soon as she felt her energy start to wane, brought her knee up to the weakest point in the male body.

Dior collapsed off of her with a low groan, clutching his crotch, which gave her enough time to sit up and see Ash, calling out to her as he chucked the syringe over Dior's head and towards her. In a blink, Farrow stood and snatched the glass out of the air and went to bring the needle down on her leg, only to have Dior tackle her again.

"That's mine, bitch." He said through gritted teeth. She struggled under him, gasping for breath after being winded by the fall. He was reaching up, desperately trying to swipe the syringe from her grasp. "Enough playing around! GIVE IT!"

In his moment of rage, he didn't notice her other hand fly at him, bringing two swift fingers down on his throat, bicep and armpit.

The boy went limp on top of her. Farrow immediately shoved him off and brought her knife down on his throat. His frantic moans were replaced with desperate screams and the gurgling of blood, and then he went still.

_BOOM._

Farrow wasted no time bringing the syringe down into her ankle through the bandage, her shaking hands just barely able to push the plunger down. The relief was immediate. The fog that had previously clouded her mind was gone, and the sharp pain that had constantly emanated from the bite was as well. She yanked the syringe out and looked up.

Just in time to see Tera's knife sink into Ash's chest.

Farrow moved. Her legs, now numb to the pain thanks to a cocktail of Capitol drugs and adrenaline, pumped below her as she raced forward. She noticed many things. The painful furrow of Ash's brow as he dropped to the ground, the sinister curl of Tera's smirk as she watched, the syringe hanging loosely out of Tera's calf. Farrow's throat let out a nearly inhumane wail as she slammed her body into the smaller girl's, landing with a thump at the base of the Cornucopia.

Farrow thought she had the upper hand. She weighed almost twice as much as the girl, after all, but she didn't account for the crazy.

Tera rounded on her with a punch to the gut, knocking what air was left in her lungs back out again, and she curled up instinctively. She was on top of Farrow, that crazed grin that Farrow had feared from day one back on her face.

"Oh, how I hoped it would be the two of us left standing at the end!" She cooed excitedly. Farrow moved to backhand her, but the girl pierced one of those tiny knives through the palm of her hand before she could even blink, driving the knife back until she had effectively pinned Farrow's hand to the ground with her blade. Farrow let out a scream, desperately clawing at the knife with her other hand to try and break herself free. "Oh no, you don't..."

There was a knife through her other hand, and she was well and truly trapped at the mercy of that psycho, who was gasping for breath between peels of laughter at the sight of her.

"Wow, I thought you'd give me more of a challenge, what with that impressive score," Tera said, her eyes flashing with something like jealously. "I know how desperately you want to get home to your girlfriend, but I wanted to give her a good show, at least."

Farrow screamed and groaned, her eyes flashing with anger at the mention of Amaran, but she was losing steam fast. The gaping holes in her palms were gushing with blood, the gnarled mess on her ankle from the snake bite had opened in her mad dash towards Ash, and the whole sensation was boiling over into a pit of white-hot, searing pain that made black spots dance in the corner of her vision.

"Tell me, Farrow," Tera spoke softly, now. She reached out and traced a line along her cheekbone with her knife. With her body in such pure agony, she couldn't tell if she was actually cutting her flesh or not. The girl stopped, leaning in close so that her face hovered inches from her own, so close that she could feel the hot cloud of breath on her skin. "Tell me, will you give them a good show?"

Farrow spit out a mouthful of blood in her face.

Tera reeled back as the gunk landed in her eyes, and Farrow could only watch as the girl laughed. This laugh was not amused. It was angry. 

"If you're going to kill me..." Farrow panted, her body limp with exhaustion and pain. "Could you stop being a freak and get it over with?"

Tera brandished her two knives, but before she got the chance to use them, an axe grazed her arm, leaving a massive gash. The two girls whipped their heads to the side, and saw Ash, leaning his whole body on the table for support, his arm outstretched after he'd thrown his weapon. Farrow's heart lifted with hope, but Tera had other plans. She yanked the hand axe out of the grass beside her and hurled it back in his direction, and Farrow watched with horror as it lodged itself in her ally's shoulder and he collapsed to the ground again.

Farrow let out an incoherent screech as she pushed herself off the ground, her screams growing even more garbled as she yanked the blades through her palms and tackled the girl who had just murdered her friend. Tera thrashed and fought under her grasp, but Farrow was an immovable object. She brought her mangled fist down on the girls face. Once. Twice. Another. Another. There was a rock beside her. She picked it up and brought it down again and again with feral grunts, only casting it aside and when it was too slick with blood to hold properly. She continued her blows long after the girl ceased to struggle, long after she stopped yelling, long after she stopped moving. Her fists were a mess of blood and gore, and she didn't know where her hands began and Tera's face stopped.

When the cannon finally boomed, Tera was unrecognisable. Her terrifying smirk was no more, as was any other part of her face, which was now a pile of grizzly blood and broken bone. Farrow fell back, staring horrified at her doing. She couldn't feel her hands, but the frightful way her fingers bent told her that they were surely broken. Panting heavily, she stared at her own twisted, bloody hands. The dim light of the moon caught on the silver band encircling her ring finger. Amaran's ring.

Farrow turned to the side and gagged, the contents of her last meal with Ash spilling out of her stomach.

Ash!

As soon as she finished vomiting, she dragged herself to her feet and stumbled over to where the boy had fallen, sprawled out next to the mouth of the Cornucopia. He was haggard, taking shallow breaths and hacking up blood with every feeble cough. When he spotted Farrow making her way over to him, his face lit up.

"You... you did it." He breathed, something like relief in his voice as he slumped back to the ground. Farrow dropped to her knees by his side.

"Only... because you saved my ass." She replied, grabbing his hand in hers. This was it. It was just the two of them, competing to see who would bleed out the fastest. She struggled, trying to recall how just a few moments ago, they were sitting together, eating chocolate. Even earlier, sharing stories of their lives back home with Rainey. And before that, she'd taught him her Grandma's special pressure points. Her broken fingers found the back of his palm absently as he laughed.

"Yeah, what else is new?" He asked, before being overcome with another fit of coughs that spilt a fresh layer of blood around his mouth. He reached out with his free hand to wipe her cheek, and she realised she was crying. He was too. "Farrow, thank you for... everything..."

His hand fell from her face, and she sucked in a breath.

"Wait, no." She said, pleading. She grabbed his face, but that only smeared blood over his gaunt and pale cheeks. She only made it worse. "Please, Ash. You can't go. You can't leave me!"

There was a ghost of a smile on his cracked lips, and with what must have been the last of strength, pressed down into that little point on the back of her hand. 

His cannon fired, and she wailed.

The trumpets blared, and Claudius Templesmith was congratulating Farrow Teff, Victor of the Sixty-Sixth Hunger Games. Farrow sobbed, clutching desperately to the corpse of her friend as the sound of thousands of Capitol people applauding and cheering her name drowned out her cries. The hovercraft cast a large shadow as it appeared overhead, but she shook her head frantically, burying her face into Ash's chest.

The cries and cheers became louder, they were screaming her name. It felt like they were all around her, surrounding her, trapping her.

Her whole body ached as she felt herself being moved. There was a pair of Peacekeepers, locking their arms under her shoulders and dragging her up to her feet. Away from Ash. She kicked and screamed with what little strength she had left, but the two wouldn't budge.

"Don't worry, Miss Teff, you're safe now." One of them said as she felt the sharp sting of a needle in her neck. Instantly, her limbs went limp and her anger dulled. "You won. You're safe."

"I won." Farrow mimicked hollowly. "I'm safe."

She slumped in their hold, and they forced her up to the ladder and manoeuvred her hands to grasp the rungs. They were careful to avoid touching the gaping holes in the middle of each palm, but everything was so numb by this point that they could have chopped her hands clean off and she wouldn't have cared.

That same current of electricity forced her to remain still as the ladder lifted her up into the belly of the craft. She looked out over the burnt field one last time before she was brought in. She saw the fields, she saw the scorch marks, she saw the lifeless bodies of Dior, Tera and Ash. She saw nothing as she was pulled up into the ship.

Medics and Doctors in sterile whites and blues swarmed her instantly. She didn't protest as they lifted her onto a hospital gurney and hauled her off into the operating room. She didn't protest as a strange blue-skinned doctor poured what looked like a bucket of disinfectant over her mangled hands. She didn't protest when a different, multi-coloured doctor fitted a mask over her mouth.

She did not protest the medicated sleep they put her under.

She was a Victor. She could not protest.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-games analytics.

The sound of her heartbeat was deafening. 

For some unknown stretch of time, so infinitely long yet so fast at the same time, it was all she could hear. It was all she could feel in the inky blackness of her slumber. On one hand, it told her that she was alive. Her heart was pumping blood through her veins. On the other hand, it meant that she was _alive_. She'd have to deal with the aftermath of the games, and whatever special hell the Capitol concocted for her.

She couldn't move, couldn't see, couldn't feel _anything_.

All she knew was that her heart was beating. 

And for now, that was enough.

* * *

**HUNGER GAMES NOTES - SIXTY-SIX - VICTOR**

NAME: Farrow Teff

DISTRICT: Nine (GRAIN)

AGE: 17

INITIAL OBSERVATIONS:

9F was reaped and reacted with shock. 9F was accosted by a fellow audience member (AMARAN FALL) to which she responded with hostility. 9F approached the stage without the intervention of Peacekeepers and maintained a stoic nature throughout the remainder of the Reaping. 9F does not appear to have any connection to 9M. 

INITIAL AUDIENCE INTEREST: MEDIUM (brave, tan skin, toned muscle, good looks, outlier district)

POST-TRAINING OBSERVATIONS:

9F conducted activities at all stations. Noted proficiency in (EDIBLE PLANTS), (HAND-TO-HAND COMBAT), (WRESTLING), (KNOT-TYING), and (SHORT BLADES). Noted inability in (FIRE STARTING), (ROPES COURSE), (RANGED WEAPONRY - ARCHERY, KNIFE THROWING, SPEARS, TRIDENTS) and (CAMOFLAGUE). Noted negative interaction with 1M and 2F. Noted positive interaction with 9M and 7M. Possible alliance with 7M.

At the individual assessment, 9F presented skill with hand-to-hand combat. Unique ability modifier increased the score to raise audience involvement.

AUDIENCE INTEREST: HIGH (looks improved by re-make centre, highest individual score) 

POST-INTERVIEW OBSERVATIONS:

9F conducted a successful interview with CAESAR FLICKERMAN. Noted skill with talking in front of crowds, noteworthy story elements: girlfriend (AMARAN FALL)

AUDIENCE INTEREST: HIGHEST

POST HUNGER GAMES OBSERVATIONS:

FIRST KILL on 11F.

Discovered EDIBLE BERRIES.

KILL 4M.

Attacked by 4F and received life-threatening bludgeoning damage to the left hip.

KILL 4F.

Received SPONSOR GIFT #00169.

Discovered natural WATER source.

Formed an alliance with 7M and 7F.

Along with 7M and 7F, destroyed the Cornucopia with SPONSOR GIFT #02895.

Tended to 7M's wounds.

Attacked by CAPITOL MUTT #0492, sustained life-threatening slashing wound + venom damage.

Attended the FEAST.

KILL 1M.

Acquired and administered anti-venom SPONSOR GIFT #10032.

Received life-threatening wounds from 2F + psychological damage.

KILL 2F.

VICTORY

**FINAL RANKING:**

VICTOR - 9F (5)

2nd - 7M (1)

3rd - 2F (4)

4th - 1M (2)

5th - 12M

6th - 6F

7th - 1F (1)

8th - 7F (3)

9th - 2M (2)

10th - 10F 

11th - 5F

12th - 4F (1)

13th - 4M

14th - 8F (1)

15th - 11M

16th - 6M (1)

17th - 5M

18th - 8M

19th - 12F

20th - 10M

21st - 3M

22nd - 3F

23rd - 11F

24th - 9M (1)

POST VICTORY NOTES:

9F is stable after several surgeries. POST-GAMES INJURIES include: Muttation Pit Viper bite (left ankle), mace inflicted laceration (left hip), minor laceration (chest, right cheek), puncture wounds (left and right palm). Mental state weakened upon retrieval of new Victor, cause for caution upon awakening. Several cosmetic procedures attempted to be blocked by STYLIST #0683 and MENTOR #0026, but block denied by (REDACTED).

Crowd satisfaction is high at 85%. Crowd satisfaction with Victor is high at 89%. Relatively good year in sponsorship revenue. General feedback includes: more variety in the arena environment, more traps, better Career tributes, easier way to find water.

PRESENTATION OF VICTOR to be conducted at no delay.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crowning of a new Victor. A cryptic warning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyyyyyy! we're getting into the real meat of the story now, boys!!!!

Farrow could still hear her heartbeat when she woke up.

That was reassuring.

She was in a hospital, strapped down to a plastic bed by thick elastic bands. There was a wide array of needles and tubes sticking out of her body, all leading into a complex stand of machinery beside her bed. On one of the monitors, a long line shuddered and beeped, producing the sound of her heart rate.

Her movements came back to her slowly. First to her toes, then her ankles, she bent a knee and raised a leg in the air. She could see from her point of view that the gaping wound on her ankle from the snake was gone, replaced with smooth skin that glistened like satin. Curious, she scanned the rest of her body. She couldn't sit up, but from a cursory search with her hands, she could feel no imperfections or scars from the mace on her hip, or the knife on her cheek.

When she checked her hands, she didn't know what she was expecting. Instead of the mangled mess of broken fingers and gaping holes in her palms, her fingers were perfectly straight, complete with a set of filed and polished nails. The puncture wounds were no more; as if they never existed. She had a free range of motion to clench, stretch and bend both hands. To top it off, sitting snug on one of her newly healed fingers, she found Amaran's ring. It had been cleaned of all traces of blood and gore, perhaps even polished.

As she continued staring dumbly down at her hands, she heard the lock on the door click.

Instantly, her whole body tensed. The Capitol doctor that walked into the room looked pleasantly surprised to see her awake, but she levelled a glare at the woman as she walked over to check the machines beside her. Farrow noticed that she was standing just out of arm's reach.

"Glad to see you awake, Farrow," she said conversationally, jotting down a few notes on her heavy clipboard. Her tilted Capitol accent stung her ears after so long without hearing it. Farrow didn't respond. The doctor returned her glare with a neutral look. "The injuries you sustained in the arena took a lot out of you. We've healed you, of course, but you've been asleep for two days."

Outwardly, Farrow didn't react. There were usually a few days between the end of the Games and the presentation of the new Victor in which the Capitol scraped together the broken mess into something presentable. Two days, though... She wondered how her family felt. Knowing she was alive, but receiving no news on her condition. She looked down at the ring on her finger and waited for the doctor to continue.

"We've taken the time to pack you full of all the nutrients you missed during your time away via injection, but that will be switched off now that you're awake. An Avox will be in shortly to bring you your first meal." The woman explained. She was tapping her pen against the clipboard as she talked. Probably a habit, but it sounded deafening in the silent room. "Now. You'll meet with your team shortly, but I have to take down your new measurements after the surgeries."

Farrow nodded. The doctor hesitated ever so slightly, but pulled out a roll of measuring tape and began jotting down the numbers on another page on her clipboard. It didn't occur to Farrow why they needed to have these new measurements at first. She knew that she'd lost weight during her time in the arena, but then she replayed the doctor's words again in her mind and it hit her.

Quick as lightning, her hand bolted out and clamped down on the doctor's wrist. The woman jumped and dropped the tape immediately, her blue eyes wide behind the surgical mask. Farrow's glare became deadly.

" _What_. Surgeries." She demanded.

"Th-the cosmetic enhancements. All Victors get them!" She said, stumbling over her words. Farrow noticed her other hand pressing desperately on a big red button on the side of her bed and her grip tightened. The doctor winced. "Y-you need to let go, Farrow. You need to remain _calm_."

Farrow's lip twitched into a smile. The machine beside her was whirring, and she could see a clear liquid flowing down one of the tubes into her veins. Almost immediately, her vision blurred and her grip loosened. The doctor wrenched her wrist out of her hold and rushed back to the safety out of Farrow's reach. She could hear herself laughing, but it was slurred as the drugs increased their hold on her body.

The doctor kept repeating those words. Or maybe she was just hallucinating. The last thing she heard before she blacked out entirely was a distant voice urging her to _calm down._

When she woke the next time, she was surprised to find her restraints gone. Not only that, but all tubes were removed from her body, and there was a bundle of clothing at the end of her bed.

Farrow flinched at the sight of her clothes from the arena. They had been stitched back together and rid of any stains, but Farrow could still sense the blood and sorrow that still clung to the fabric.

Next to her bed was a tray with a small portion of food on it. A light broth, a small portion of fruit jelly, and a pitcher of water. Even though she took her time, her stomach still turned with the sudden weight of real food for the first time in days. After days of eating only enough to survive, and then another few on nutrient slop, she struggled to keep even the small meal down.

After eating, she turned back to the clothes.

She'd been able to distract herself with the meal, but now she assumed it was time to get going. They loved to record the first reunion of the Victor with their team, and Farrow was eager to see Miller and Garner and even Flora and Dionysus again. She'd only been away for a week, but it felt like a lifetime.

So, still dragging her feet slightly, she dressed in the white linen shirt, cargo shorts, and jacket. She expected to be swimming in the clothes after losing so much weight, but it only took a few seconds of confusion at the tight fit of her pants to remember her previous conversation with the doctor.

There was a wall to ceiling mirror in the corner of the room, and she hesitated before its image. The woman before her was still Farrow, but different. The changes were subtle. The slight padding on her hips and chest, the fullness of her lips and eyelashes that hadn't been there before, the unnatural darkness of her previously brown eyes. She had been changed, but unperceivable so. They had altered her in such a way that nobody would be able to notice.

Nobody but her.

She was stuck with her thoughts as she threw on the rest of her outfit. In the back of her mind, she noted that the heart monitor, which it's a constant reassurance that her heart was still pumping blood through her body, still keeping her alive, was gone. Quickly, almost panicked, her hand shot up to her chest, and she only calmed when she felt the distant but gentle thump of her heart beneath her palm.

Farrow looked at herself in the mirror again. Her changed image stared back at her, taunting her.

She turned and headed for the unlocked door.

For a brief moment, it was silent. Then, Dionysus' voice came barrelling down the hall, and when she turned, her team was waiting at the other side. She could see her aforementioned escort waving enthusiastically at her. Behind him, Flora was grinning, holding a bundle of tissues under her eyes to catch the tears that were all forming. And beside them both, Miller and Garner, the former welcoming her with open arms.

Her feet moved automatically, and she all but launched herself into the arms of her mentor. Miller laughed and embraced her firmly.

"Geeze, easy on these old bones." Farrow stepped back to apologise, but Miller narrowed her eyes and yanked her straight back into her hold. She leaned in close, whispering in her ear. "I'm sorry about the surgeries. We tried to stop them but it came from the top."

Farrow blinked as she digested the information, but before she could reply Miller had pulled back and was acting like nothing was happening. She felt the weight of a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Garner staring down at her with a wide grin on his face. "I told you you could do it."

"You shut your mouth." She replied in an instant, and the man laughed good-naturedly. Farrow shot Miller a look, but the woman pointed to her watch quickly and Farrow knew it wasn't the time. Dionysus demanded a hug as well, and then Flora had to have one as well, and pretty soon she was getting dizzy from being passed around so much.

"Okay, okay, that's enough," Miller spoke up, once again coming to her rescue. The older woman cupped her cheek fondly, petting it for good measure. "You go get ready with Flora. She'll take care of you."

Farrow nodded and allowed her stylist to lead her out of the hallway to an elevator. The hospital was on the bottom level of the training centre, so that meant she had to pass by all the floors that had been occupied by the fallen tributes as she flew up towards her apartment. For once, she was glad to have Flora's constant chatter as a distraction.

Her prep team was waiting for her in her room, and they got right into making her over like the good old days. They kept discussing the Games amongst themselves, but eagerly switched topics when Farrow asked them about what they would be wearing tonight at the ceremony. Just like that, she didn't have to say anything else. She sat back and allowed them to twist and braid her hair half-up into a crown around her head, coat her nails with shimmering golden polish and dust her skin with dazzling glitter.

As per usual, Flora took up the reigns for the finishing touches. Her prep team bid her a farewell as they bustled out of the room to go get ready themselves, and she was left alone with her stylist.

It was silent for a long stretch of time. Flora carved shadows and highlights onto her skin, lining her now full lips with a dark red shade and coating them with gloss. The rest of her makeup was much more natural than before, with neutral pigments mixed with gold to create a shimmering effect.

As her stylist went to pull the dress she would be wearing out of its bag, she frowned. "I'm sorry about the enhancements they did to you."

Farrow blinked. 

"Miller and I tried to stop them, but..." The woman sighed, a few pink tufts of hair falling loose from her bun as she slumped. Farrow stared at her. "They told me the reason they do it. They say the audience needs to see that the Games had improved you in some way. For most people, they resort to the surgeries..."

Farrow's mind raced as she listened to her stylist's words. They wanted the audience to think the Games improved them somehow? She wanted to say that she couldn't believe it, but she did. She could totally see how the Capitol would want to brainwash its citizens into thinking the Games were a good thing for the Victors. An honour. A privilege.

"And, I just wanted to say... You're perfect just the way you are." Flora said, a soft smile on her face that Farrow believed was true. Even if she didn't know the true reason Farrow was upset, the woman still tried. Farrow returned the smile and allowed Flora to help her into the floor-length gown she'd produced from the garment bag.

The fabric of the dress was a slightly sheer gold, her perfect skin shining through the gaps between the plant-like lace detailing that covered the bodice and flowed down into the skirt. The dress was tight, showing off all of her new curves, but billowed out past her hips to fall loosely around her legs. Flora helped her into a pair of golden heels and they were finished.

Farrow reunited with the rest of her team at the elevators, and they rode down to the ground floor together. Flora rushed off to get ready, and Farrow was left to her own devices as she stood on her mark and waited for the ceremony to begin. 

The crowd beyond the stage was thunderous, and Farrow realised with a start that she was not at all ready for this. The moment she did, the music blared and the voice of Caesar Flickerman welcoming everyone filled her ears. 

Farrow tried to take deep breaths, but her lungs would only take in air in short, shaky intervals. She desperately clamped down on the back of her hand, but in an instant, she was back in the arena and Ash's lifeless body was staring up at her, his dead man's grip pressing hard against that same point.

She broke out of her stupor when the audience roared for the members of her team as they arrived on the stage. Her prep team received a warm welcome, which was overshadowed by the wild applause they gave Flora, which was then smashed by the desperate hollering they threw at Dionysus. Miller came out and she thought the audience was about to lose their minds. Suddenly, a stagehand was signalling at her and her platform was starting to rise.

Despite her anxiety, it was surprisingly easy to fall back into that character. All that panic was pushed to the back of her mind as she set her shoulders back, pasted on that serene smile and became her alter ego that she'd created for the audience. Like slipping on a well-worn glove.

If she thought the audience was wild for her team, they were absolutely unhinged when she appeared. Her eyes took a few moments to adjust to the bright stage lights, but when they did she looked out over the city square and saw thousands upon thousands of Capitolites screaming her name, applauding and stomping their feet with excitement. Farrow smirked at the scene before her, and the audience went wild. They were desperate to see her. They were desperate to consume from her very soul as they watched the drama unfold on stage before them. She was disgusted by them.

She was glad for Caesar's assistance as she slid into the ornate Victor's chair. Her legs were weak beneath her, threatening to send her falling to the ground any minute. She disguised the shake as an impatient tap. Caesar welcomed her and made a few jokes, but went on to the show quickly. She wasn't ready. She didn't think she would ever be ready, but like it or not she had to sit and watch through the whole ordeal in front of the entire country.

The producers loved to make a story out of The Hunger Games. This year, they showcased a young woman in love, fighting to come back to her waiting lover. Even though her experience of the games had been awful, the peppy music and dramatic score made it all somehow worse. They showed much more of the Reaping than usual, focusing on both Farrow and Amaran in the crowd of nervous children, holding hands, sharing jokes, and eventually, staring at each other with shock as her name was called. They showed Farrow's anger at Amaran wishing to volunteer, and then they were onto the Tribute parade.

The week in the Capitol flew by, showing her transformation into a Goddess in the eyes of the audience. They portrayed Farrow as a determined warrior, with clips of her impressive training score and cunning smile.

They focused on other tributes as well. Tera and Dior were cast as jealous rivals, hell-bent on hunting her down and taking the win from her. And, of course, they gave plenty of time to Ash and Rainey as well. Farrow fought to keep her expression neutral throughout the show, but her mask cracked slightly when they showed a clip of the two of them encouraging each other during the interviews, placing a particular emphasis on the odd pressure point they constantly pushed.

Then, the Games began. 

Farrow braced herself for the scene she knew was coming, but seeing Grist on that screen again was enough to make her look away. The audience swooned at her 'emotional display', but in reality, she didn't think she could watch without throwing up. She was forced to listen, instead. She heard the timer count down, she heard her desperate pleas, and she heard the massive boom that signified Grist' demise. When she refocused, the bloodbath had started. Once again, the camera flashed and focused on several different events, but it returned to her as she drove her knife through the girl from Eleven's throat. The first blood. Her first kill.

The film skipped over her blind panic and instead focused on the rest of the Bloodbath, the parts she hadn't seen. It had been particularly bloody this year, and she was forced to keep a straight face as she watched ten more children lose their lives. Tera threw a knife so hard into the girl from Three's skull that her neck snapped right back with it. The boy from Six bashed the little mentally ill boy from Eleven's head into the side of the horn, only to be skewered by one of Dior's spears. Farrow watched Rainey and Ash escape unscathed, and then the Bloodbath was over and the show began switching between different perspectives.

Their arena had been tiny, in comparison to previous years. If Farrow had wandered just a tiny bit further West in those first days, she would have come upon an electrified chain link fence that stretched up twenty feet and surrounded the entire field.

The film kept checking in on her, but while she was busy nearly dying from dehydration, there was action happening. She saw Rainey get bitten by the Dead Weight, then find Ash and strike up an alliance with him. She watched all of the tributes eventually converge around the Cornucopia after all coming up empty in terms of water. Then, she watched little Seaton from four march up to the Career hunting party, only to be brutally beaten by his own district partner and left for dead. The audience awed and cooed at her mercy killing of the little boy, which made her slightly sick. And, after her brawl with Adira, they once again burst into tears at her wounded plea to Amaran.

The days flew by. The girl from Five made the mistake of sleeping on one of those pit viper nests and was dead in minutes. They kept cutting back to the Careers but they just weren't finding anyone. It was played as a massive joke that they didn't realise their prey had been all around them. The film portrayed her alliance with Ash and Rainey as a brothers-in-arms sort of thing. When they enacted the plan and Farrow left Rainey for dead, it was painted as a noble sacrifice for the greater good.

Then, it was time for the feast.

Farrow had been doing a pretty bad job of keeping her composure, but by that point, she had given up. She tried desperately to distance herself from the situation, to think of something else as the screen focused on her knife driving deep into Dior's throat. But when Tera struck Ash, she knew it was over. She watched with dead eyes as she was tortured on screen for the country's amusement. Her hands tightened so hard around the armrests of her throne that her nails threatened to snap.

They played her brutal killing of Tera in full. No music.

She looked past the screen, trying to focus on literally anything else, but she heard every disgusting crunch of bone and splatter of blood. She heard the sound of the rock break teeth, and her own shock when she had realised what she'd done.

Farrow did not see her 'touching goodbye' with Ash. 

Farrow was numb.

The anthem was playing again, and everybody rose as the President took to the stage. Farrow remembered seeing him for the first time at the tribute parade and being struck by how deadly he looked. Now, up close, she could smell the blood on his breath. President Snow picked up the Victor's crown and placed it on her head with a smile. Farrow felt her heart seize in her chest and bowed as deeply as she could. He looked satisfied with that, at least.

The audience gave one last cheer and then she was being whisked off to the victory banquet in a shiny black limousine. Dionysus was beside himself with excitement, while Miller and Garner shuffled uncomfortably in their seats. As they started to pull in to the long driveway of the President's mansion, Miller leaned in close.

"Stay with me or Garner while you're in there. Don't let anyone take you somewhere else." She warned. Her face was light, to not give off any suspicions to the other occupants of the car, but her tone was dead serious. "People will make you uncomfortable. They will be rude. They will be touchy. Just smile and nod and we'll try and leave as early as possible."

Farrow nodded to show she understood, and then they were thrust into the thick of the party.

She was thrown back and forth by eager Capitol citizens desperate to introduce themselves. She followed Miller's lead and thanked her sponsors profusely. She laughed at every corny joke and smiled at each disgusting hand that grasped her body. Their words and faces all melded together in the heat of the moment. And at every moment, her mentors were by her side.

Until they weren't.

Farrow had to resist the urge to call out for them when she finally noticed their disappearance. She was stuck in a conversation with a group of rowdy Capitolites that had paid for her medicine after her fight with Adira, and she could only smile and pretend to sip her drink as they tried to congratulate her.

"It was just spectacular," a particularly drunk man said from beside her. "the way you took out both tributes from Four in minutes! I swear I've watched that scene hundreds of times already."

Farrow didn't say what she had wanted to say, about how she had replayed the scene countless times in her head, too. How Seaton and Adira's faces along with all the others haunted her at every waking moment. Instead, she laughed behind a hand as she thanked him. One of the other women grinned and latched onto her hand, her artfully manicured nails digging into Farrow's skin painfully.

"And the final showdown between you and Tera!" The woman gushed, brushing a fat thumb over the smooth skin where Tera's knife had pierced her flesh. Farrow bit down the urge to break the woman's wrist. "I was practically glued to the TV!"

"I do believe everyone was at the edge of their seats for that particular scene." A voice said from behind her. It was familiar, and as she turned she realised that it belonged to the Victor of the Games before her, Finnick Odair. He was still just fifteen years old, but the ladies in their circle swooned at the sight of him and his dashing smirk, blushing and fanning their faces with their hands. "I was hoping to steal our dear Farrow here for a moment if you all wouldn't mind."

"Oh, please, not at all!"

But the group still demanded several photographs with the two of them - the two most recent Victors! - before letting them go. As Finnick lead her through the crowd towards the dancefloor, she became aware of the precarious nature of the situation. Finnick had mentored this year, meaning that either way she had killed both of his tributes. Despite this, he seemed completely calm as he guided her in a slow dance. Farrow didn't know why the younger Victor had invited her for a dance but decided to just go along with it for the time being. Finnick smiled at her.

"You'll get used to them." He finally said, with a subtle gesture to the group from before. He chuckled at the doubtful expression on her face and continued: "well, you'll have to get used to them. Especially with how popular you've become."

"I've tried to use that to my advantage," Farrow replied, allowing Finnick to spin her in time with the music. As they danced, Farrow used their proximity as a chance to scan the boy's face carefully. She'd watched his games last year, seen his face countless times on screens and banners, and could now notice the small changes to his boyish good looks. If anything, the Capitol had played with his features more than hers, shifting his more boyish features to mature a lot faster. It seemed that the doctor was right, all Victors do receive the same cosmetic enhancements. She didn't feel relieved by the revelation.

"And you've done it remarkably well, believe me. You have my congratulations," Finnick said, then swept his eyes around the room carefully before leaning in to whisper in her ear. "But soon, you'll realise how much of a detriment that popularity is."

The song ended and Finnick stepped back with a polite bow. Farrow curtseyed as best she could to keep appearances, but her mind was reeling with the thinly veiled threat. Finnick sent her a smirk and disappeared behind a wave of Capitol citizens. Farrow was left to fend for herself, indulging in conversations and ignoring blatantly sexual advances until her mentor showed herself, but that feeling of safety that had enveloped her since she had woken up was long gone.

As she retreated to her bedroom in the apartment and curled beneath the plush sheets, she realised why.

She'd made it out of the Hunger Games alive, but the real games were just beginning.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The interview, and the return.

When Dionysus came to wake her for the interview, he had to all but drag her out of the cocoon she'd made herself just to get her in the shower. She'd gotten next to no sleep since her head had hit the pillow hours before, and the Capitol escort tutted at the puffiness of her face. Flora was already there when she got out, and soon she was in the thick of yet another transformation.

Farrow wondered how many more of these sessions she'd have to do for the rest of her life. At least, she'd get a break when she was home.

Home.

The thought was nearly enough to cast the air out of her lungs. All this time spent in the Capitol knowing that there was a massive chance she'd never see the place again, yet here she was. Not too long now, and she'd be stepping off of the train into the rickety old station of District Nine and feeling the hot sun on her skin. Amaran would be there, waiting for her with her whole family. Farrow didn't find herself nervous about the reunion, even with the risk that her family wouldn't approve of her relationship, she just wanted to see them again.

Her stylist applied the finishing touches on her makeup, and when combined with her flowing white dress, she looked absolutely radiant. At least according to Flora

The interview itself would be taking place in the sitting room down the hall, which had been turned upside down in an effort to make the perfect setting. Space had been cleared and two chairs - one regular and one throne - had been moved in and surrounded by a collection of white and yellow roses. There were only a few cameras there to record the event, no live audience. Farrow let out a sigh of relief.

"Not long now, just this and we'll be on the train home," Miller said as she made her way over. She must have seen the yearning look on Farrow's face because she smiled. Then, leaning in under the guise of adjusting a stray hair, she whispered: "you've avoided it for too long. I know its hard, but you need to thank the Capitol. Make them believe that you like them. Love them."

Miller leaned back and Farrow nodded, but inside she was a mess. She had avoided talking about the Capitol in the time that she'd been here, and now she'd have to go all out. Miller had said that she needed to make them believe that she loved them. That she loved the people who had sent her into the arena in the first place. The people who had watched her get hurt and kill and cry and _loved it._

Soon, though, the time had come. Farrow was drawn out of her thoughts by the arrival of Caesar Flickerman, who drew her into a warm hug. "Farrow, darling, congratulations on everything. How are you faring?"

"I'm well, Caesar." She said, lying through her teeth. "You'll be there to catch me when I fall, after all."

That drew a loud laugh out of him, and he promised to keep her on her feet as they made their way over to their seats. An Avox brought out a tray of water in tall glasses and then someone was counting down from three. She wasn't ready, but she never felt ready.

Caesar was, as per usual, wonderful. He eased some of the pressure on her shoulders by taking on most of the teasing, joking and dramatics. No matter what she said, Caesar would act like it was either the deepest or funniest thing that anyone had ever said. The questions started off simple, the sort of things they asked every Victor; but eventually, he moved on to questions that made her actually have to think.

"So, Farrow," he said, fixing her with a look, "I do believe congratulations are in order. Not only did you come out as Victor, but you also managed to claim the awards for first kill and most kills, with five in total. I'm sure that made some lucky betters very happy."

"I hope they got their money's worth," Farrow said, hoping that the sarcasm didn't read as well on camera. She felt sick at Caesar's praise. She had killed five other children, and here she was being celebrated for it. She clasped her hands in her lap to hide the sudden shake that had taken control of them, but she forged on. "I didn't go in thinking about records. I just wanted to get out of there alive."

"Of course, of course," Caesar said, almost placating. "And we don't have to ask what drove you, of course. I think I speak for the audience when I say your motivation to get home to dear Amaran resonated with us all. That moment after your battle with Adira, for instance. My heart very nearly _stopped!_ "

"Well, I'm sorry for any emotion damage I caused." She said, and Caesar let out a booming laugh. When he didn't continue though, she supposed she'd have to elaborate. "I guess I just... I was so focused on getting home that I didn't even think about what would happen if I didn't. After that fight, I think I finally realised that I might not make it back to her." She sighed inwardly, then continued, staring into one of the cameras. "And, if not for my sponsors, I definitely wouldn't have. I want to take this time to thank every person who supported me along the way. You have my undying gratitude."

Caesar had pulled out a handkerchief to dab at his eyes during her answer but still managed to gush over how humble she was as he too thanked all the sponsors that had put in money for the tributes that year. They spent a few minutes on this, but eventually, they got back to the main event. "Your alliance with the tributes from District Seven was certainly a favourite to watch. Even in the Games, and please correct me if I'm thinking into things too much, but it seemed like the three of you had become genuine friends. Thoughts?"

She knew it was going to come up at some point, but she still had to stop to compose herself before answering. 

"I don't think you're overreaching at all, Caesar," Farrow said, "Ash was a genuinely kind person, which I wasn't expecting to find in the Games. We helped each other through it, and... I don't think I could've got to where I am without him. Rainey, well... She obviously wasn't my first choice in allies, but she proved herself to be one of the bravest and smartest people I've ever met."

"And Rainey was a witty one! Her plan to destroy the Careers' supplied quite literally blew us away." Caesar quipped, and Farrow had to force a laugh past her lips. Here she was, laughing at a joke about the deaths of three children. She felt disgusting. Caesar continued on about her allies for a while longer, and it was torture to talk about them while acknowledging - celebrating - their deaths. She felt angry. Angry at Caesar for forcing her to relieve their deaths. Angry at the Capitol for forcing her to fight for her life. And she was angry that it was all for the purpose of other people's entertainment. All this suffering for a few weeks of pageantry.

"Here, this is the moment I knew you were a winner," Caesar said, drawing her back into the moment. They had been playing a few clips of the games and making her comment on specific points, but now they'd shown a clip of her taking down Adira.

Farrow watched herself paralyze the girl and drive a knife into her throat, saw the shocked look on the Career's face and the grit of her own teeth as she yanked her blade back, allowing a splatter of blood to spray across her face. As the scene paused, Farrow couldn't look away from the blood-covered image of herself on the screen. 

"Farrow, you told us all at the interview that you had something up your sleeve," Caesar said pointedly as if to gather her attention. She blinked. "We've seen tributes with all sorts of unique fighting styles, but I do believe this has to be one of the most intriguing ways yet."

She finally looked away from the screen, nodding at Caesar silently. He continued.

"I'm sure I speak for the entirety of the country when I say: _how?_ " He asked. The remote in his hand twitched and another clip of her subduing Dior played. Another spray of blood hit her chest. She swore she could still feel it on her skin. "How does it work?"

Farrow sat in silence for a moment. She thought of her conversation with Ash, describing the little intricacies of her grandmother's technique, handed down generation by generation since before the Dark Days. She thought of the absolute terror in the eyes of her opponents after their bodies failed them.

She forced a playful smirk onto her lips, falling back into character smoothly. "Well, I can't exactly give away all my secrets now, can I?"

The interviewer seemed downcast at her refusal to elaborate, but continued his line of questions nonetheless. "What about a demonstration? Humour me, please."

"Hmm, if you think you can handle it..." Farrow pretended to ponder. In actuality, the chance to covertly punch one of those Capitol pricks was sending an odd amount of energy through her muscles. Caesar implored one of the producers, who eagerly agreed. "Well, if you insist... I'll have to move closer."

Caesar joked about getting flustered as she sat forward, took the host's arm and sent a quick jab into the space between muscles in his bicep. Caesar's arm instantly went limp in her hold and the man cursed in shock. She pretended to soothe him as she spoke. "It'll only last a moment."

The whole incident sent the crew into a fit of laughter that lasted about as long as the host's arm was paralyzed. Caesar made the situation worse by failing the dead limb around helplessly as Farrow returned to her seat. When the studio returned to normal, Ceasar showed off how his arm was now perfectly fine, and the interview continued. 

There was more talk about various injures, the mace incident, the snake bite, the torture scene. Caesar talked about them all as if they were fictional events, and Farrow had no choice but to go along with it, discussing her thoughts about 'the wonder that is Capitol medicine' as well as what exactly it felt like to have two knives driven through her palms.

By the end of the ordeal, Farrow felt numb. Caesar signed off and congratulated her one more time before exiting, along with everybody else from the Capitol film crew. As soon as they were gone, Miller appeared before her.

"It's over, we can go home now," she said, drawing her into a strong embrace. Farrow nodded weakly against the older woman's shoulder but stayed silent as they gathered up their things and made their way down the elevator. A black limo with tinted windows whisks us away towards the station where this whole mess began, and Farrow stayed silent as she watched the towering buildings and colourful people fly by. The train was already there when they arrived, along with the entirety of their Capitol team.

Flora barely has any time to say goodbye but tried to assure her that they would see each other again for the Victory Tour. Her reminder did not reassure Farrow. She could not bear to think about it when she was so close to freedom.

The train set off as soon as they stepped inside, and soon they were hurtling the short journey towards District Nine. The dark tunnel opened up to rocky mountains and grassy plains, which eventually turned into fields upon fields of grain that littered the outskirts of the District. Being so close to the Capitol had its advantages, but it also meant she barely got any time to prepare before they would arrive back in her home.

She excused herself early from their decadent lunch to change out of her restrictive dress and wash off the mountain of makeup on her face. She pulled on a casual pair of clothes, or as casual as she could get from her wardrobe on the train. There was a pair of denim shorts and a loose white tunic that vaguely resembled what she would wear on a usual day back home. With each passing moment, she was slowly transforming back into herself. Farrow Teff, the fieldworker, the plain girl no one looked twice at. For some reason, she didn't think she could ever fully go back to that now. The girl in the mirror was different from the girl who had first stepped onto the train weeks before. And Farrow dreaded the idea of trying to force herself back into that lifestyle she'd lead before.

There was a knock on the door, and she turned fully expecting to see Dionysus there to tell her it was time to go. So when she saw Garner leaning against her doorframe, she let out a sigh of relief.

"Not sure what I was expecting, but it sure wasn't that," he said as Farrow turned away from the mirror and flopped down onto her mattress. The older Victor gestured awkwardly to the end of her bed and she nodded silently. He took a seat as far as he could from where she was resting. "So, you don't seem that excited to get back home."

Farrow opened her eyes and sent him a look. "You're not too good at the whole comforting thing, are you?"

Garner huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well sorry for trying. This is my first time bringing somebody back _alive_."

Farrow didn't know what to say in response to that.

"Sorry. As you said, I'm not good at this." He said, squaring a serious look at her. "But I do know what it's like. Coming back from this shitshow. Having to act like you're okay after going through hell. For nearly thirty fucking years."

Farrow sat up, snapping the older Victor out of his moment. Garner sighed, and she felt an overwhelming sense of pity for him. When she had first arrived and seen his lax attitude towards his tributes, she'd been filled with rage. Now, though, she realised how heartwrenching it must have been to send so many kids into the arena, knowing they stood no chance but hoping anyway. She was filled with dread for what was to come.

"How do you do it?" She asked, her voice betraying her desperation as she took in her mentor's sorrow-filled eyes. "How am I supposed to _live_ with this? With what I've done?"

Garner took a deep breath, reaching out to place a steady hand on her shoulder. He levelled his gaze with her's. "You don't. You can never truly live after the games. You have to learn how to survive with them."

Farrow broke away from his gaze, holding back tears that could not be shed as she glared holes in the carpeted ground. Garner's grasp on her shoulder tightened imperceivable so.

"You go out. You smile for the cameras. You play pretend for everyone, including your loved ones." He said, staring pointedly at the silver ring on her finger. "But as soon as you disappear behind closed doors, you can come undone."

She stayed silent but lifted her gaze towards him as he let out a light chuckle. "We'll get a screaming room installed in your new mansion ASAP."

Farrow smiled at him, but her face fell as the voice of their escort came barrelling down the hall, calling for them to get ready for their arrival.

"Thanks, Garner." She said weakly. Her mentor nodded, and she felt the mattress shift as he stood up and left the room. She accosted herself in the mirror one last time before she stood, leaving her compartment behind right as the train began slowing down.

Farrow watched the District pass as the train rolled forward. She had truly believed that she would never see those dull concrete buildings ever again, yet there she was. There were new things, too. Posters and banners that bore her image, crowds of people celebrating in the streets. It had been decades since District Nine had brought home a Victor, and already the Capitol had delivered its first load of gifts to the people as a reward for her performance in the Games. There were more people out than she had ever seen in one place, all cheering and waving at the train as it passed. 

If there was one good thing that came out of her games, it was at least the fact that fewer people would grow hungry for the following year. Nevermind the fact that it would all go away at the moment of the next games, or that the Capitol was using food as a weapon to keep the Districts compliant, she could at least be glad for this one thing.

The train slowed even further as the dusty station came into view, and if Farrow thought that there were lots of people before, the number of people that swarmed the station was insane.

Finally, the ground beneath her shifted as they slowed to a stop and the doors swung open. Farrow was assaulted by the sheer noise of the platform and the flashing lights of several cameras going off, but as soon as her eyes adjusted she spotted a young girl and her elderly Uncle standing in front of the crowd.

She supposed that Victors were supposed to hold themselves with a little more restraint, but Farrow didn't hold back as she launched herself into Amaran's arms. The feeling of her body on hers, the familiar way her unruly blonde hair whipped against her face in the wind, it all felt so strange to feel after weeks of not knowing whether she would ever feel it again.

Amaran was the first to pull back, holding Farrow's face in her hands and searching every inch of her body, as if to make sure that she was real. There were tears in her eyes, in both of their eyes, but when they kissed it was heaven. All the people and cameras disappeared as the girls melting into one, clinging to each other desperately, so that they would never be separated again.

Eventually, they had to move apart to breathe, and Amaran's Uncle Bailey appeared in her line of sight, pulling both of the girls into a warm embrace. "I knew you could do it."

Farrow thanked him profusely and returned the hug as best she could, even at the odd angle. When she pulled back, she realised something, whipping her head around to try and spot the missing people. "Where is everyone? My parents, and Rai and Quin?"

Amaran's face fell at her words, and for a moment Farrow feared the worst. Her thoughts must have been mirrored by her face, as Bailey was quick to reassure her. "They're fine, don't worry. They're just... a little shocked by you and Amaran."

It was like a dagger to the heart. Miller reached over to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but Farrow could barely feel it. Bailey was quick to assure her that they were bound to come around quickly and that they just wanted to chat in private, without all the cameras, but Farrow knew he was just trying to placate her. If they truly didn't hate her, they would have still made it.

Garner started to guide her towards the exit of the building, and before she even realised it they were in another car taking them towards her new home.

In just a matter of moments, her whole world had crashed around her. She knew it right from the moment she'd decided to reveal her relationship, but somehow she was still left in disarray by her family's prompt decision to reject her outright. Had they decided to do it as soon as it was revealed during the interview, or had they waited to see if she would survive before disowning her?

Amaran's hand tightened around her's, drawing Farrow out of her funk.

"Don't worry about them." The girl said, and Farrow nearly melted at the sight of those eyes burning with passion. "We're in this together, alright?"

Farrow buried her face in her girlfriend's shoulder but still managed to nod.

If there was one thing Farrow was relieved about, it was that she still had Amaran by her side.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The transition back to a normal life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update time!!!!!!!! (there may be some new additions to tags and warnings so be careful!!)

Transitioning back to a victor's version of 'normal' was unbelievably hard. Her new house in Victor's Village was bigger than what any single person should have, with two stories and five bedrooms she had no idea what to do with. If her family still wanted anything to do with her, then the rooms surely would have been filled up with rooms for everyone. But with just Amaran and herself, the house felt cold and empty.

Amaran had moved in with her the day she had arrived back, having received a letter from the Capitol 'strongly suggesting' she did so after her parents refused. Farrow assured her that she was glad to have someone else in the house with her, but Amaran still insisted on apologising for intruding.

The pair had a few days to rest and unpack in their new house, but they spent most of that time hauling the gaudy Capitol furniture to the goodwill store and buying new things. Amaran had taken the opportunity to spend a large portion of her Victor's money to fill the house with as much random shit she could, in order to make it feel homier.

"What are we going to do with this?" Farrow demanded, exasperated as she picked up one of the new decor items Amaran had purchased that day. It was an ornately carved wooden guitar, standing on a stand that was just as beautifully crafted as the instrument. Amaran crossed her arms over her chest.

" _Play it_ , obviously." The girl said, snatching the guitar out of her hands and plucking a few strings. Farrow lifted a brow but deflated under her girlfriend's grin. "So what, I'm picking up a few hobbies. You said it yourself, without working we both need things to do to keep us sane."

"You learning to play the guitar is not gonna help keep me sane," Farrow replied, flopping back on the new couch that had just been delivered. The whole house had been baren and cold when they'd first moved in, despite the warm colour palette and wooden accents. Amaran's decorating certainly made the place feel a little more lived-in, but it didn't make it any less empty. It was a far cry from the crumbling concrete apartment complex she had lived in before the Games, with its single bedroom and handmade furniture weaved from leftover straw. And yet, she missed the place more than anything.

Despite assurances that her parents would come around, they still refused to see her. She'd sent a letter along with a small portion of her winnings to them in an attempt to reconnect, but the letter was returned to her the next day with the money gone but the letter left untouched. A clear rejection of her invitation. Farrow didn't have the energy to be angry with them. Instead, she arranged to have a portion of her money sent to her parents monthly.

Uncle Bailey came over for dinner often, stating that he needed to make sure that his niece was being taken care of, despite the fact that Farrow knew he was doing it to try and make her feel better. To be fair, it did a little.

Then, after their three days of 'rest' were up, it was back to Victor duty. There was a banquet with the highest-ranking officials in the District in which she had to try and explain why she and her girlfriend had thrown out all of the furniture they had put in for their house. Next was a meeting at the Peacekeeper headquarters, in which she had to shake hands and take pictures with a few of the officers, including the ones that had given her lashing in the past. They seemed to think of it as a funny story, and Farrow had to force herself to laugh. Then there were several speeches she had to do. Schools, hospitals and even the fields she used to work in. Her old coworkers regarded her with caution, but a few of the others with whom she was closer with welcomed her back with open arms, even thanking her for her 'noble sacrifice'.

And, as was customary for Victors, she had to have dinner with Grist's family.

The whole thing had started off terribly. The moment she walked in, her district partner's four-year-old sister rushed up and asked if she had brought her brother with her. Farrow was able to stifle her shock into what she hoped resembled a kind smile, but Grist's mother immediately dissolved into tears that didn't seem to let up for the remainder of the evening. 

Farrow couldn't say everything she had wanted to say. That their son had been crushed under the weight of the games, and that it was her fault he had suffered. That she still mourned Grist's death every day, that she saw him in her nightmares every night. How could she, when the three of them pleaded for any glimmer of good news? So she bit her lip and told them how much he talked about them during training, and how special his token had been to him. When she handed them the tattered string of beads that he had taken with him into the arena, both of his parents burst into tears. Farrow consoled them for the rest of the dinner but fled the house as soon as she could. She was the reason Grist had thrown himself from the plate early, had ended his own life because he knew he stood no chance. She couldn't bear standing in his home acting like she was his friend.

The days started to blur together. The camera crews and reporters eventually lost interest, packing their things and leaving her alone after she made an effort to be incredibly boring. Farrow thought she'd be relieved now that she was being left alone, but she found that without anything to do, anywhere to be carted off to, she began to stop leaving the house altogether. There were some days where she couldn't even gather the energy to leave her bed in the morning.

It had been one of those mornings, just a few weeks after she'd returned home when she had her first episode.

The night had been a rough one, and sleep had come in small increments interlaced with images of horrors she'd seen in the games. Amaran was always there when she woke, holding her in her arms and whispering comforting words until her tears dried on her cheeks and she fell back asleep. Farrow felt awful, burdening her with her problems. Amaran deserved someone better, someone that would let her get a full nights rest. Even so, when Farrow told her that, she huffed.

"If being with you means missing sleep, I'd stay up forever." She said, and Farrow snorted. "What? I'm being serious."

"You're so corny." She replied, snuggling further into her girlfriend's chest. Even with the biggest bed that either of them had seen, they somehow managed to squish together and only take up a fraction of it. Amaran smiled down at her, and they fell into a peaceful quiet that they'd grown accustomed to in Victor's Villiage. Since there were only four residents, the place only came alive whenever the Capitol visited or the groundkeeper came along to keep the gardens tidy. Compared to the bustling District life they were used to, it still felt strange.

Farrow hummed as she felt the other girl's fingers run through her hair, detangling any wayward strands and gently massaging her scalp. With the morning sun filtering through the window, she could close her eyes and pretend to be back before the games, riding in the back of Uncle Bailey's old pickup truck. She could pretend that nothing awful had ever happened.

"Farrow," Amaran said, her voice barely above a whisper. She hummed in response, still deep in the feeling of the girl's fingers on her scalp. She heard Amaran hesitate. "What was it like... Being, y'know, in there."

Amaran stopped her movements when she felt Farrow stiffen. It wasn't just her scalp, her whole body went rigid in the girl's hold. Quickly, Amaran back-tracked.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked." She insisted, sliding her hand down to rest on the victor's shoulder. Farrow, hearing the nervous nature of her girlfriend's voice, sighed and relaxed back into her arms. She flipped over so that she was facing Amaran, squaring her with an empty look.

"It was hell." She said simply. Amaran blinked, and Farrow continued on. "Not just the games, even the part before when you're in the Capitol. They poke and prod you like you're an animal, and they make you over like it's all some sort of fun game for them. They make you smile and act the part and then send you off to your death."

"Farrow, I-" But Farrow didn't stop. She didn't even really hear the other girl by that point. And it was because she realised that this was the first time she was able to speak, really speak about her experience. Not sugar coat it for Capitol audiences and glorify it in some speech. She continued.

"I got onto my podium and I realised I was going to die. That everybody around me was going to die but one. Then Grist went off and exploded. Did you notice that a chunk of his skin got on my boot? I did. And then - and then I fucking killed her. Little Summer from Eleven. And it was _so fucking easy_ . Like a hot knife through butter, my knife through her throat." Farrow was sitting up now, hands cradling her head and staring blankly in front of her but clearly somewhere else. "I keep telling myself that it was part of the Games, but I _killed_ her. I killed five people. Five people with families, and lives and probably girlfriends and boyfriends that wanted them to come home as well, and-"

Amaran was on her now, crushing her in a tight embrace in an attempt to calm her down. Farrow took a deep breath in, her lungs drawing air in with shaky movements. In and out, in and out. Farrow let Amaran lay her back down in bed, barely blinking as the blankets were thrown over her. She finally came back to the world when a glass of water was placed in her hands, and she felt her heart physically ache at the sight of the panicked tears in her girlfriend's eyes.

"I'm sorry." She said, trying to steady the glass in her trembling hands. Amaran shook her head, settling back into bed with a quiet sigh.

"It was torture, you know. Watching you." The girl said, her unkempt brows knitted together in a way that Farrow usually found adorable. Now though, she felt nothing but anguish. "I saw you suffer and get hurt and I couldn't do anything. We had to watch it at school, talk about each tributes odds and all the mistakes you were making." Amaran shifted her gaze back to her, her dark brown eyes ringing with red. "I had to be excused from the class, 'cause I kept breaking down."

Farrow felt a ghost of a smile on her lips and she reached out to cup the other girl's jaw carefully. Her heads were steady.

"It wasn't an act." She said, drawing herself up so she was level with her. "In those moments when I thought I was done for, I thought of you. I knew I couldn't die on you."

Amaran let out a breathy laugh, leaning over to rest her forehead against her's. "Now who's the sappy one?"

Farrow didn't answer, pushing her lips against Amaran's instead. The girl melted against her instantly, cupping her cheek and pulling a hand through her hair. The kiss was soft and sweet, so unlike the desperate kiss that they'd shared in the Justice Hall after she'd been reaped. They knew that they could take their time with this one. They had all the time in the world. Amaran shifted, moving her body so that she was on top of Farrow, and deepened the kiss.

The other girl pulled away, trailing a line of pecks along the line of her jaw as she made her way down. Farrow gasped at the feeling of teeth against her flesh, and Amaran stopped, hovering above her hesitantly. Farrow opened her eyes, but Amaran's cheeky smile was gone. The gentle press of her body against her's was suddenly too tight, her hands too heavy on top of Farrow's.

Farrow blinked, and Amaran was gone. Replaced with Tera.

She was back in the arena, knives pinning her to the dry ground, the crazy girl from District Two on top of her.

Farrow struggled against her grasp. She could feel her heart beating erratically in her chest, her lungs bringing in short, static breaths. Tera was like a rock, immovable as she hovered above her, grinning, laughing. The laughter was all she could hear. All she could feel as the girl shook with mirth. Farrow twisted and shoved, trying to get her off, but she wouldn't budge.

Pain enveloped her body and she screamed. The pain in her hands was blistering hot. She brought them to her face and gasped at the mangled mess that she saw. It was even worse than it had been in the arena. Her palms were merely a set of bones with chunks of flesh clinging to them. She forced herself to look away, only to come face to face with the brutal sight of Tera's broken and bloodied face.

The girl looked at her somehow, flashing her a crazed grin despite missing most of her teeth.

"You'll pay."

Farrow screamed, and then it was all gone.

She was back in her bedroom. Amaran was still on top of her, having spent the last few moments in a panic, trying desperately to shake Farrow out of her own mind. When it was clear that it was over, the two spent hours curled up in bed, clinging to the safety they felt in each other's arms. 

Things calmed down after that, but both of them knew they couldn't ever go back to normal. Farrow could tell that the episode had terrified Amaran, that it was making her nervous to do much of anything without several check-ins to make sure Farrow wasn't about to break down.

Farrow hated it. Hated being treated like a house of cards, bound to topple over at any second. But, she also realised that there was no use complaining. No matter what her Capitol-assigned doctor would tell her over the phone, that her reactions were completely normal, she knew she was losing it.

Still, she was a Victor. And that meant that she had to keep up appearances. Especially with the looming horror that was her Victory tour. 

The first thing that she was required to do was pick up a talent. Something to do now that she would never have to work a day in her life ever again, but also something for the Capitol to grill her about during her scheduled interviews. It was easy for most of the Victors from One and Two to find a talent, since they'd been planning their own victories for years before volunteering, but for victors like Farrow, who'd been plucked from a sea of children destined to continue their District's industry. All she was good at was harvesting grains! And that wasn't good enough, apparently.

Dionysus had sent her a long list of possible hobbies, but they were all a bit out of her depth. Things like singing, cooking, painting and playing instruments ended up as disasters, only bearing Amaran's teasing laughter as a result. She asked her two neighbours about their talents, but that came up useless, too. Miller's had been dancing, while Garner had chosen soccer. Now that both of them had long since fallen out of the spotlight in the Capitol, they hardly had to keep up their 'talents' anymore. 

In fact, it wasn't until the final weeks leading up to the tour that she decided on her talent. 

Gardening.

A perfectly respectable and boring hobby for her to uphold. Dionysus hated it, obviously, but that just made her more assured in her choice. Her escort was one of the most insufferable Capitolites she'd ever met, and if he found it boring, the rest of the Capitol would too.

The morning of her departure on the Victory tour was spent preparing the final touches, making her home look presentable by arranging colourful blooms in glass vases, clearing out all the junk that Amaran had bought but never used, and wiping off the several layers of dust from the several rooms neither of them had entered since moving in.

Farrow had just finished laying out a plate of finger foods when the doorbell rang. From the kitchen, Amaran sent her a confused look, which was mirrored by one of her own. Her Capitol entourage wasn't supposed to arrive for another hour, at least.

Sighing, Farrow left to get the door. Bracing herself for the barrage of comment about how she'd let herself go, she took a deep breath in and slid on her well-practised smile. When she swung open the door, the last thing she was expecting to find was her parents.

Instantly, the smile was wiped from her expression. A million thoughts raced through her head. After publically rejecting her at the train station, after months of radio silence... Here they were.

"Farrow!" A voice cried out, and a small shape barged between the two figures in the doorway to tackle her around the middle. She was sent a few steps back at the force of the blow, but when she looked down she was met with her little brother, Quin's grinning face. His hair was longer now and he was missing his two front teeth, all reminders of how long she'd been kept away.

"Quin, you little scamp!" She cooed, picking the boy up and swinging him around. He squealed in delight, his bright hazel eyes gleaming with joy. "Ugh! You're so heavy now... What are they feeding you, bricks?"

Now settled on the crook of her hip, Quin shook his head vigorously through his giggles. At the sound of a throat clearing, she turned back to the party at her door. Her mother, clinging on to little Rai's hand, was watching the interaction passively.

"I'm sure you're... surprised to see us." Her father spoke up, still not breaching the threshold of the house. Farrow rolled her eyes.

"Well, it would have been nice to have some notice." She replied, adjusting her brother on her hip as she turned around. At the end of the hall, Amaran was watching the scene play out hesitantly. Farrow sent her what she hoped was a reassuring look, but in her current state of mind, it probably resembled more of a panicked grimace. "Why don't we put some tea on?"

Eager to have an out of the situation, Amaran hurried off to the kitchen. Farrow turned and gestured for the party to come in with her head.

While her parents got settled in the sitting room, she set the boys off to explore the house.

Now out of his mother's grasp, Rai jumped up to give her a massive hug. She dropped to her knees to accept and allowed herself to relish in the first contact she'd had with her little brother in months. When she pulled back, she smiled. "You've gotten so big!"

Hearing the break at the end of her sentence, Rai's brow crinkled slightly. "I wanted to come and see you... I didn't like it when you went away."

"I hated being away, too." She said, running her hand through his hair thoughtfully. Suddenly, looking into his face after so long, she couldn't help the tears that sprung up from her eyes. Both boys were quick to embrace her again, doing their best to console her in what ways they could; whispering soothing words and patting her on the back, just as their parents would do to them. "I missed you all _so much_..."

Rai and Quin shared a look, and the older boy leaned into her as if he was about to reveal a great secret.

"I think you and Amaran are really good together." He whispered, and Quin nodded vehemently behind him. Farrow grinned through her tears and thanked the boys, but by then they were starting to get distracted by the stacks of interesting things in the mansion. After a quick promise not to break anything, they were off up the stairs.

Farrow stood up, releasing a deep sigh out of her chest. At least they weren't being difficult. They were just the same old boys. Her parent, on the other hand...

She rounded the corner and into the sitting room, finding the pair sitting rigidly in a plush loveseat, each holding a cup of tea. Amaran was sitting, somehow even stiffer, in a couch that was a little out of the way. Farrow strode over and sat with her girlfriend, taking her hand in her's as she assessed her parents.

"So." She said, taking the cup that Amaran offered her. "What are you doing here?"

"You should know that we aren't exactly here by _choice_." Her mother replied sharply, in a tone Farrow hadn't heard since she was little, when she'd run off and get in trouble with Peacekeepers. Her _mother_ didn't speak to her like this, like a stranger. Farrow sucked in a breath at the cold reply and instantly felt a hand on her shoulder. Her mother narrowed her eyes.

"Then why," Farrow demanded. Her father caught her gaze, the first time he'd done so since he'd arrived.

"There was a letter from the Capitol," he explained, and Farrow was glad that his voice was the same. He was not icy like her mother, but weary. As if he hadn't slept a wink in days. "It said that audiences were... confused as to why we were absent from the station for your return. And - and they strongly suggested that we be present for your farewell."

Again, Farrow felt the air leave her lungs in a slow draw. Of course. She'd been foolish to believe that they had come to reconcile. To believe that this visit was anything less than the Capitol meddling with her personal affairs, yet again.

"Right." She finally managed to choke out. Amaran was staring at her, but she forged on. "Well, the team is set to arrive at noon. Feel free to make yourself at home, or not. I know you want nothing to do with me."

It was a stupid, rash thing to say, but it had been said. She stood up suddenly, fleeing the room immediately after she said it. She ignored the call from her father as she escaped, making a beeline for the door that would lead to the backyard. Her breathing was starting to fail, but the fresh air did nothing to soothe her aching lungs. 

Farrow planted herself down on the steps of the porch, looking out over the frost-covered garden. It never got cold enough to snow in Nine, but the air was cool enough to show the clouds of her exhale, frantic and short. She forced herself to focus on calming down as that stupid Capitol doctor had taught her. Breath in for six, hold for six, out for six.

She repeated this enough times to start absorbing the world around her. She was cold, having stormed outside in nothing but a thin blouse. There was shouting coming from the house behind her, two distinctly female voices, her mother and Amaran. Farrow almost laughed. She wouldn't put it past her girlfriend to start fights in her honour. Finally, she heard the door swing open, and two heavy footfalls approaching. She'd lived with him long enough to recognise the footsteps.

Farrow didn't speak up. She was afraid that if she did, she'd start to apologise, and that was the one thing she didn't want to do. She needed to stand up for herself, which was stupid since she was a Victor now. She'd survived the fucking Hunger Games and she couldn't even face her own parents.

The wood creaked as her father took a seat beside her, leaving a respectful distance between them. He looked ahead, surveying the wide expanse of rose bushes and fountains, before looking back at her. There were tears in his eyes.

"I just need you to know that... I'm so sorry." He said, his voice barely above a whisper. She blinked at him. He continued. "We told you before you went in that you were our daughter first and foremost, but... we failed you."

"Dad..." She started, but he furthered on.

"I feel horrible, but I only realised it today." He admitted, wiping a few stray tears away with his sleeve. Farrow just stared at him. "After you told everyone about... you and Amaran, at the interview. I stopped, fuck, I stopped thinking about you as my daughter." Farrow just stared at him as he spoke, glaring daggers into the earth beneath him. He wasn't angry at her, she realised. He was angry at himself. "And then, when you held Quin, when I saw you in person, I realised I fucked up."

"Dad, stop." She said, reaching out to grab his shoulder. He looked up, his disgust in himself clear on his face. "When I came back, and you weren't there... I wasn't surprised."

His face fell, and Farrow continued. "Me and Amaran were never gonna go over well, but I understand hearing about it on live TV the night before I was being sent to my death was a shitty way to find out."

"Still, it doesn't excuse-"

"It doesn't." Farrow cut in, her eyes stinging with tears. "When you weren't there, at the station, it was painful. And when you rejected my letters, it was worse."

Her father was silent now, staring at his shoes with a look of shame so strong she almost pitied him.

"But if you're with me now..." She said, and he raised his head slightly. She laughed. "Please, dad. I don't like to admit it, but I need you."

Her father stared at her. Blinked. He opened his arms and she was on him in a heartbeat. She couldn't describe it, the happiness, the relief of having her father back. It was like a thousand pounds had been lifted off of her shoulders. She could have stayed in his arms for hours, could have pretended she was young and nothing had ever come between them forever, but then the clock struck noon.

The tour was about to begin.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tour, culminating in a banquet at the Capitol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the brief hiatus! I moved down to Melbourne and I'm enrolling in uni, so my already shaky update schedule got a little worse lmao.

Her mother was conspicuously absent when she returned inside to greet the team. Amaran was quick to fall by her side, and by the flush of her cheeks, Farrow chanced a guess that their argument didn't end up as well as her conversation with her father.

Dionysus was the first one through the door, his gaudy purple suit solidly clashing with the mansion's warm decor. It'd been so long since she'd seen a Capitolite in the flesh that the sight of his surgically modified face and sculpted hair was enough to give her a headache. Nonetheless, she played the role of a good host.

"Dionysus, great to see you." She said, fighting back an eye-roll as he pulled her in to kiss her on both cheeks. She took the time to introduce him to everyone, and by the time Dionysus was finished raving on about how beautiful Amaran was in person, her mother had returned with the two boys in tow.

"And there they are!" The escort cooed, regarding her little family that had gathered at the end of the hall. Farrow had to choke back a laugh at the shady look Quin sent the man. "You all were so lovely in the interviews, I was so sad to not see you at the station!"

"Ah, well... We needed to give these two lovebirds some room." Her father replied good-naturedly, earning a laugh from Dionysus and a subtle glare from his wife. Farrow had just enough time to offer some tea and direct Dionysus to where the cameras could go for her talent interview before her prep-team burst in and ushered her up to the bathroom to be made over.

Farrow had never bothered to learn the names of the trio. They talked so much that she hardly ever had to say anything besides a half-hearted compliment or a nod in agreement, and she found that she liked the arrangement well enough. The process went much quicker than what she was used to, as she only had to be on camera for an hour or so. The real make-over, one of them assured her, would be on the train to District Twelve.

She had been dreading the tour for months now. Ever since she'd left the Capitol, it had been all anyone could talk about. Farrow knew that it was just another ploy to keep the Games fresh in everyone's minds, to draw out the suffering for the Districts while providing another round of entertainment for the Capitol. She'd be dolled up and gifted a bunch of useless plaques in front of a crowd of people forced to act as if they loved her, even if she had been the one to kill their tribute.

And, of course, she'd have to face the District of her allies as well. She was supposed to say a few personal things about both Ash and Rainey to go along with the Capitol sanctioned speech, but every time she'd sat down to write her mind had drawn a blank. How was one supposed to summarise their thoughts about a person, to comfort their families while knowing that the only reason that they were standing there was that their child was dead?

Farrow was broken from her dreary train of thought by her stylist's arrival. Flora brought her in for a massive hug, prattling on about how excited she was to show off what she'd been working on these past few months. Farrow nodded along passively and allowed the woman to transform her back into her Capitol persona.

A smattering of neutral eyeshadow, along with a few swipes of mascara and a bit of lip gloss was all she needed, apparently. Along with the floral sundress Flora had procured from a stack of garment bags, she looked ready for a day out in the garden. If, of course, you were a Capitol citizen and thought that a billowy white dress was appropriate attire for outside in the winter.

The interview went over smoothly. She was made to read off of a few cards, listing the different blooms and repeating 'isn't it lovely?' what felt like a thousand times. After the voice recordings were done, she was shooed away so the cameramen could do their work in peace.

Farrow sought out Amaran as soon as she was free, finding her tucked away in the kitchen with what must have been her fourth cup of coffee. It seemed that Flora had gotten to her as well, as her girlfriend was now in a similar floral dress, and her wild blonde hair had been tamed into a stylishly messy updo.

"Don't laugh," Amaran said as soon as she spotted her. Farrow raised her arms defensively, but her smirk stayed firmly planted on her face. The girl huffed. "I don't know how you deal with these people."

"It comes with practice," Farrow replied easily, slinking her way behind her girlfriend and wrapping her arms around her middle. They were set to leave soon, and Farrow was relishing those last few moments before they had to part. Amaran hummed against her.

They stayed like that for a while, the house bustling around them. If it was Farrow's choice, she'd never leave again. But as always, it wasn't her choice.

The sound of Dionysus' voice barrelling orders to get moving reached them and Farrow wilted. "I guess that's my cue."

Amaran turned in her arms, looking up at her with a crooked smile. "Don't you worry, you'll be back before you know it."

"I know," Farrow whispered, pressing her forehead against the other girl's. They shared a quick kiss, just before Dionysus shouted for her once more. Farrow smiled as she finally pulled back. "Don't laugh at me too much, yeah?"

"Only a little," Amsran promised, and Farrow sighed. It was as good as she could get.

After a quick interview with Caesar outside her house, they were off. Miller by her side, she prepared herself as best she could for the coming weeks. Dionysus tried to lift her spirits by telling her how much of a privilege it was to get to see the other Districts in person, something no other citizen was able to do, but his words wrung hollow when they arrived at their first stop.

District Nine had its fair share of starving folk, and Farrow herself was no stranger to poverty, but District Twelve was on another level. The streets were filled with the emaciated bodies of people who'd never known a full belly, each person covered in coal dust with hunched shoulders and worn-down expressions. She hadn't interacted with either of the tributes from Twelve, but the boy had made it to the final five, so her speech reflected his bravery and cunning.

The people in the square were polite but restless. Even the mayor, a tall balding man, seemed eager to get the event over and done with. She received a gold medal and posed for a few photos, and with a small dinner in the Justice Building, they were on their way. Farrow knew that the worst was yet to come, as next in the schedule was District Eleven.

Compared to the shoddy fences that surrounded the previous District, Eleven's towering barbed wire remind her much more of home. They pass several watchtowers and cut through countless pastures and orchards before stopping at a dusty station.

If she thought that District twelve was cold towards her, the people of District Eleven were icy. None were brave enough to publically shame her, not with the square teeming with Peacekeepers, but their glares were enough to get their message across. Farrow didn't hear a word of the mayor's speech. She was too busy avoiding the massive screen displaying Summer's face. The face of the girl she killed, and the family of five that was mourning her.

She felt sick to her stomach as she spoke, praising the two tributes for their noble sacrifice and celebrating the Capitol's generosity. When she finally managed to choke out the last few words of the speech, she realised that Summer's mother was weeping. A boy that seemed to be the eldest was holding the woman, glaring reproachfully at Farrow. When she caught his gaze, she knew she deserved it.

The days flew by. Extravagant meals, the finest clothes and monotonous speeches. She was taken on tours of farms in District Ten, gifted expensive gowns from the textile factories in Eight. The days grew longer and harder on her body, and Flora had to begin taking her outfits in at the waist.

Finally, they were arriving in District Seven.

Briefly, she remembered her stupid wish to see the forests of the District. Ash had laughed at her then, but here she was. The woodlands and lumber yards they passed through were breathtaking, better than any picture in any textbook she'd seen. But she couldn't bring herself to marvel at their beauty. Not when every passing second she was drawing closer to having to face the home of her dead friends.

As she rolled through District Seven in an open-top car, waving out over a sea of people, she got the feeling that the people there didn't hate her, at the very least. When she met their eyes, she saw not anger or bitterness, but something like respect. Farrow turned away and stared straight forward, biting down the shame that had been boiling inside of her since the beginning of the tour.

It was then, as she climbed the steps of the Justice Building and listened to the mayor's interchangeable speech, that she realised how awful this whole thing was. It wasn't only to keep the memory and the suffering fresh, but it was _humiliating_. The Capitol loved to portray Victory as the pinnacle of life, an escape from the mundane only after the ultimate sacrifice, but Farrow knew better now. The Victors were just as powerless under the thumb of their oppressors as anyone else, perhaps even more since they were forced to perform their love for the Capitol so publically. Farrow felt her fists clench behind her back as she stood, standing before a sea of people. And behind them, the families.

Seeing Ash on that screen felt like a gut punch, and the sight of his little sister that he so adored ate away at whatever heart she still had left. The young girl was beautiful, with short black hair like her brother, and bright eyes that she imagined could hold so much kindness, if not for the circumstances. It was those eyes that still haunted her dreams. Instead, they were rimmed with red, downcast with sorrow. The look was mirrored in the faces of her mother and father, standing either side but holding strong. They stared at Farrow with such an intense gaze that she couldn't help but break it.

On Rainey's side was but an old woman, sleek grey hair pulled into a tight bun and those same piercing eyes that purveyed a sense of intelligence and cunning that she couldn't even hope to understand. The woman met her gaze and gave her a firm nod.

Farrow was summoned to the microphone and gifted an oak wood plaque. She shook the hand of the little boy who had given it to her, before finally facing the audience. Thousands of eyes were all trained on her, so silent that she wondered if it was her mind playing tricks on her. Either way, she had their full attention.

She started as is customary, thanking them for their accommodation and praising the Capitol all in one. The cards went on to talk about sacrifice and civic duty, but she couldn't bear to stand in front of her friend's families and regurgitate Capitol garbage. Instead, she placed them down on the podium and took a deep breath in, squaring her shoulders and looking out on the crowd.

"I want to thank the tributes of District Seven," she started, sweeping the eyes of the audience. The silence was palpable. "Not only for all that they have done for me, but for their heart, passion and kindness that I never expected to receive."

Farrow looked over at the old woman in front of Rainey's picture. "I didn't get to know Rainey as well as she deserved. She was the mastermind behind the plan that very well lead to me being here today, and she remains one of the smartest people I have ever met. I respected her for her wit, and for her refusal to go down on anyone's terms but her own. I will forever be grateful for what she did for me."

The woman on the stage nodded at her, reaching up to wipe a few stray tears from her eyes. Farrow took a deep breath in and turned to the family on the opposite side of the square.

"I was fortunate enough to know Ash for longer." She started, locking eyes with the little girl in front. "He stayed with me in training, supported me through the interviews, and helped me unequivocally during the Games. He was the sort of person that didn't deserve what he got. He was kind, loyal and he will always stay with me, for the rest of my life." The girl nodded at her as if to affirm her in some way, and Farrow smiled sadly back. "Thank you for everything."

Farrow stepped back from the podium as the audience applauded her, just in time for the first tear to fall down her carefully made-up cheek.

More days and more districts.

After her somewhat warm reception in Seven, the crowds returned to hating her guts for the rest of the tour. She expected to be booed off of the stage in Four, where she managed to kill both of their tributes, but instead find a strangely passive atmosphere. It was then, at the banquet at the mayor's house, that Finnick appeared and explained that nobody particularly liked Adira after what she did to Seaton, but they don't like Farrow either since she's not from Four.

"You Careers are a nightmare to deal with." She had said, but Finnick only shook his head and introduced her to a few other Victors.

Sleep was hell without Amaran there to chase the nightmares away, and soon enough Farrow is asking Dionysus for the high strength pills he uses to sleep. They worked at first, knocking her out well enough that she feels like a rock for the rest of the day, but soon even they do nothing to quell her terror, only trapping her there for longer. Images of bloody hands reaching out of the darkness to strangle her, or pits of venomous snakes ripping her to shreds. She'd wake up every single time and search for the warmth beside her, only to find cold and empty sheets. Instead of seeking comfort in somebody else, she found that spraying herself with jets of cold water in the shower helped distract her.

If she thought that the people of Four were crazy, the crowds in One and Two were bonkers. Any of the tributes from those Districts could have made it home if it weren't for her, and she had specifically killed Dior and Tera. Despite this, the crowd still sang her praise and congratulated her wherever she went. She had won the Games, after all, and that was the highest honour to those people.

By the time she reached the Capitol, she was dead on her feet. 

Dionysus had offered her a multitude of candy-coloured pills to 'put some pep in her step', but she wouldn't want to put whatever makes Dionysus Dionysus in her body if she was being paid. So instead, she went through the multitude of public appearances on coffee and willpower alone. There were all sorts of events, interviews, photoshoots, public poster signings, all culminating with the party held in the banquet room of President Snow's mansion. Only the most prestigious of citizens received an invite to the party, and it was the thing Farrow was dreading the most.

Here, she couldn't read off a card or appeal to people's humanity. Here, she would have to act. Act like she loved every single person in the room, act like she didn't mind being kissed or groped without consent, and most difficult of all, act like she was enjoying herself.

Back in her old quarters in the training centre, she carefully looks through the countless evening gowns Flora had selected for the night. Farrow had been able to choose most of her outfits for the tour, even if her stylist had intervened on multiple occasions, _persisting_ that flats could not be worn under any circumstance.

She found what she was looking for in a rack of gold dresses, a floor-length gown with billowing sleeves and a high neckline. If she was going to be fondled by hundreds of people, she at least wanted a layer of protection.

"Oh, that is a nice one," Flora said, running the sheer fabric between her fingers thoughtfully. "Unfortunately, your dress had already been decided."

With no further explanation - just a tight-lipped smile - her stylist zipped her up into a form-fitting gold dress with a plunging neckline and a high slit on the side. The dress showed off all of her newly-acquired curves, and with the smokey make-up and cherry red lip that went with it only added to the provocativeness of the outfit. She tried not to be angry with Flora, for it seemed that even she wasn't happy with the outcome, but she couldn't help it. All her hopes for the night were dashed instantly.

The Capitol loved her. They loved her body, they loved her voice, they loved the way she had brutally murdered five people. She was there, not as a person, but as a beautiful trophy to be admired, or new and exciting pet to share with their friends.

Farrow managed to lose track of Miller frighteningly early on in the night, and she knew that could only spell disaster. She moved from group to group, being pulled into conversations with people she would never learn the names of. They delighted in her presence, spoon-feeding her small bites of food from the feast surrounding them, chatting about anything and everything from her new talent to the state of the weatherman's recent wig mishap.

"Oh, you'll have to look it up, it was disastrous!" The man, she believed him to be some sort of famous musician, told her. "Of course, anyone with a brain could tell that it was a wig - you just don't get that sort of height with anything else, darling - but to have it yanked off his head by a microphone-"

The conversation was, thankfully, interrupted by the arrival of a new face. Well, a face that Farrow hadn't seen before.

"Ambrose! Lovely to see you, darling," the man beside her said. Ambrose cocked one lightning-shaped eyebrow at the clearly drunk man and turned to Farrow.

"If you don't mind, Tuna, I was hoping for a chance to speak with our newest Victor." The man said, although it seemed that he didn't particularly care whether or not Tuna (which was apparently the guy's name) minded, as before he could reply he had taken Farrow by the hand and was guiding her towards the dancefloor.

Dionysus had coached her on a few Capitol dances, ones so boring and simple you could do them in your sleep, but soon she was falling into step with this new man. Ambrose smiled down at her.

"I've been waiting to talk to you for a long time," he said simply, a mysterious smile on her face. Farrow mirrored it with one of her own.

"Well, you could say I'm a little busy these days." She said, ignoring the blatant way his eyes continued to fall towards her chest. She cleared her throat. "If you don't mind, could I know to whom I owe the pleasure?"

"Ah, excuse my manners!" He said, finally meeting her gaze. "Ambrose Northcott, at your service. I'm the Head of the Muttations Department."

"Ah," Farrow replied, her ankle suddenly flashing with phantom pain. Ambrose's lips turned up in a smile at her reaction.

"I know my reputation proceeds me. You'll have to forgive me for my work on the pit-vipers..." He said, his hand trailing down until it rested atop her hip. "I have an affinity to snakes, you should know."

"Well, I can't say you didn't do your job," Farrow said in a light tone, though her eyes were starting to scan the room for some sort of escape. A new song had just started, and she couldn't very well leave now without being considered rude. The man's hand tightened ever so slightly.

"And you, well..." He trailed off, his eyes flashing with something dark. "You were always my favourite."

It was at that moment that her rescue arrived. Miller, dressed in her own evening wear and looking slightly harried, appeared beside them. Farrow tried not to let the relief she felt show on her face. "Hello Mr Northcott, I'm afraid I'll have to steal Farrow from you for a moment."

"I'm sure whatever it is can wait." The man replied, his voice much less smooth now. Miller narrowed her eyes at the man and procured a small envelope of parchment from her purse. Instantly, Ambrose removed himself from Farrow, and she let out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding. "I see. Please excuse my boorishness. I do hope to see you soon, Farrow."

One last time, he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a slow kiss to her skin. Farrow suppressed a shiver as he turned and made his way to the bar.

"You have no idea how much I love you right now," Farrow said as she rounded on her mentor. Miller, however, didn't look as happy.

"Don't get ahead of yourself. Ambrose, at least, we can handle." She said, handing the tiny envelope to Farrow. Behind a wax-pressed seal lay a small card of paper that simply read: 'Farrow Teff, your presence is required at the President's office at 23:00.' After reading the letter several times over, flipping the card to check if she had missed anything, she handed it back to Miller, feeling that relief drain away as quickly as it had come. Miller frowned at her after reading the card herself. "Let's get going, then."

The two made their way through the crowd, avoiding being sucked into conversations by pretending they were on their way to the bathrooms. Farrow followed behind Miller as she guided them through a maze of corridors towards what she assumed was the office. Peacekeepers lined the halls, and they only grew in number as they drew closer.

Finally, they made it to a great oak door. Farrow took a deep breath in, but Miller held her back, setting her with a strong look. Behind it, she could sense an overwhelming aura of pity radiating from the woman

"Listen to me, Farrow. Whatever you hear in there, you have to stay calm." She said, eyeing the two Peacekeepers that stood at either side of the door. Farrow nodded at the woman. "No, you need to understand. You can't say no."

"I understand," Farrow replied, peeling the woman's hand off of her shoulder. Miller frowned at her again, but Farrow just smiled, turning around and letting the doors swing open for her.

The President's office was just as extravagant as she had expected. A dark mahogany desk sat in the centre of the room, adorned with stacks of important looking papers and a single white rose in a vase. The carpet was a plush red beneath her shoes, but despite the bookshelves lining the walls, bursting with all sorts of tomes, the room felt cold and empty.

Just like the man that was occupying it.

"Farrow," President Snow said, snapping shut the book he was reading and sliding it back into its place on the shelf. The sudden noise made her flinch. Her whole body was on high-alert like she was staring into the eyes of a snake bound to strike at any second. The President smiled at her. "Now now, there's no need to be so on guard. You should know, I hold a special place in my heart for you Victors. We're like family, you know."

"I see," Farrow replied, surprised by the steadiness of her voice. She stepped further into the room, ignoring the ominous way the doors swung shut behind her. Approaching the desk, she inspected the white rose more carefully. That sickeningly sweet scent that the President wrapped himself in was stifling in the room. 

"I know that you have a fondness for gardening. I have my own wing of the mansion devoted to roses." He said conversationally, eyeing her down as she tracing a finger down the stem of the bloom.

"Just roses?" She asked, innocently. "They can be a handful."

President Snow just smiled at her. He held her gaze as he rounded the desk, taking his seat in the towering chair that seemed fit for a ruler such as him.

"You will find, Farrow, that if you put the work in, they will always turn out the way you want." He said, cryptically. Farrow nodded and took a seat when he motioned for her to do so. Like that, staring him dead in the eye, his piercing blue eyes seemed to be searching through the depths of her very soul. He smiled. "You know, I quite enjoyed our little games this year."

"I'm glad," Farrow said, although the very last thing on her mind six months ago was making sure the President was happy. "I heard it was a hit with sponsors."

"Yes, but I think we both know that it's not the money that drives the Games." Snow replied, and Farrow hesitated. She had no idea what the meeting was supposed to be about, and yet at every turn, she felt worse and worse about her standing. She channelled Miller's words and forced herself to remain calm. "I'm sure you've figured that out by now, though. You're a smart girl."

Farrow didn't reply. She felt no good feelings from compliments from the President. She had no idea if he was mocking her or not. She sucked in a breath. "What exactly do you want from me?"

Snow's puffy lips curled up in amusement as if he was looking at a particularly cute puppy. He stood from his seat, and rounded the desk again, plucking the white bloom from its crystal vase, twirling it between his fingers.

"What is your favourite flower, Farrow?" He asked, cocking his head at her from where he stood. It was a simple question, but Farrow couldn't understand the weight behind it.

"Sunflowers." She answered, and when the President raised an eyebrow, willing her to explain, she continued. "They grow wild in my District. I've always... admired their ability to follow the light."

Snow seemed to contemplate that for a moment, staring down at the delicate bloom in his hand with a small smile on his face. Farrow could almost see the cogs spinning in his mind. Finally, he let out a soft laugh, almost a mere whisper in the silent room.

"You know, I like to think that a person's favourite flower says a lot about them." He said, staring off into nothing for a moment. "For instance, the rose. Simple, elegant and clean. There are many colours and types, but I find the white variation to be the most... pure."

"And sunflowers?" Farrow asked, because she was getting tired of the odd nature of the situation. Snow kept that same smile on his face.

"Sunflowers are often attributed to unconditional love and... loyalty," he explained, eying her carefully. "And I do find that... fitting."

"Mr President," Farrow said, clasping her hands together in her lap. "I know you're a busy man, and I highly doubt you called me here during the biggest party of the year to talk about flowers. So, what exactly do you want from me."

The President rounded the desk one last time, settling in his big wooden throne with a contented sigh. Farrow watched as he sorted through some papers kept in a lower draw, one that had a lock and key guarding it. What he finally procured from the pile was a crisp, white legal document, bordered with white roses. There was a long chunk of text printed on its surface, along with space for two people to sign. A contract, with her name printed at the top of the page.

"I'm sure by now you've noticed your growing popularity with the Capitol citizens." At her careful nod, he continued. "Because of my people's love for you Victors, I decided to put together a way for them to have the opportunity to get closer to you. If... the demand is high enough."

Farrow stayed rigid in her seat. The idea of spending any more time with these people sent ice through her veins, but she remembered her mentor's words: 'you can't say no'. She pulled the contract closer to her and began skimming over it as the President continued.

"And I should tell you, the demand is high. High enough for me to offer before you turn of age."

Farrow went still. Her heart stopped. Not only at Snow's words, but the one word on the contract that seemed to scream at her.

Prostitution.

All previous thoughts of hatred for the Capitol were thrown away. A new, fresh wave of humiliation; of anger was building in her chest, and she didn't know if she would be able to contain it from escaping. The President sat patiently - almost gleefully, if a man such as him could feel true glee - at the other side of the desk, his bright blue eyes boring into her.

"So, Farrow, what will it be?" He asked, still holding that stupid rose in his grasp. He almost seemed to revel in her rage. "Will you show me your undying loyalty?"

Farrow looked up at him, her hand clenched into a fist on top of the contract. She thought of Miller, so weary as she led Farrow to the door, she thought of Finnick, who had warned her of the danger that came with popularity, and she thought of Amaran, who would be waiting patiently at home for her to return, waiting patiently to continue that normal life they had wanted so badly.

Farrow felt the rage drain from her body. In its absence, a hollow pit grew in her very core.

She picked up the pen, and lowered it to the page.


End file.
